


The Wayward Familiar

by Freya_Ishtar



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Gen, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Humor, Post-War, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-04 04:25:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 42
Words: 50,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17297726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Freya_Ishtar/pseuds/Freya_Ishtar
Summary: Returning for 8th year, Hermione unexpectedly winds up with a 2nd familiar when the one she buys for Ron as a gift—a ferret she jokingly names Draco—refuses to go to him. When she realizes the creature isn't what it seems, she goes further than she ever thought she would to get the real Draco back.





	1. Ron's Gift

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Notes:
> 
> 1) This is intended as light, goofy amusement, not at all serious, or plot-heavy (this opening chapter may feel a little bland, I apologize for that). The 'mystery' in this is also not super difficult to figure out when the pieces start coming together, so if you find what you think is a plothole as to "well, they should've realized everything as soon as 'this information' came out" . . . yeah, no, lol. When I say it's goofy amusement, not at all plot heavy, this is exactly the sort of thing I mean, there isn't really a deep or complicated mystery to solve here, and there isn't meant to be. Please, just kick back and enjoy the read. ;D
> 
> 2) I know there are already many (many) ferret-Draco fics out there, but for some reason, I just couldn't help myself.
> 
> 3) Chapters are intentionally 'bite-sized.'
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any affiliated characters, and make no profit off this story.

**Chapter One**

Ron's Gift

Harry frowned, his eyes drifting closed as he rubbed his forehead with his fingertips. The mingled calls of animals, combined with the excited chatter of soon-to-be first years, choosing their first familiars, had given him a headache nearly the second he'd followed Hermione through the shop door.

"Remind me why we're doing this?"

His best friend's chestnut eyes rolled as she shook her head. Her gaze drifted along cages and bins, carefully considering each animal's face, in turn. "I just want to do something nice for Ron. After what happened with Scabbers, he never got another familiar, so I thought a new one would make a good gift."

"Nothing whatsoever to do with him not really forgiving you, yet, for breaking up with him?"

She shot him a withering look over her shoulder. "There wasn't anything  _to_  break up. We never officially became anything. He just assumed we were because of that . . . that  _stupid_  kiss I now wish had never happened."

Harry nodded, though he was really only half-listening, as he trailed behind her through the cramped aisles. "Was it that bad?"

"It wasn't bad at all, it was actually quite nice, and I think that was the problem," she said with a laugh as she shook her head.

His mouth puckered in thought as he watched her press her nose to the glass of one seemingly-empty case. "So . . . . Wait, what?"

She braced her palms against the glass as she stood on her toes, trying to peer into the darkest corners, under some artfully-placed shrubbery. "Had it been awful, he probably would have just let it be that one kiss. But it was nice, so he got it in his head that it meant we were together. I didn't even realize until he exploded because I hugged Neville." Once more she glanced over her shoulder at him. "It was  _Neville_ , and a  _hug_ —a hug that happened in celebration of winning the Second Wizarding War. Honestly! You'd think he walked in on me shagging Dean Thomas."

Harry hid a snicker behind his hand. The comical mental picture of battle-worn Ron losing it in the background as Hermione held Neville Longbottom in warm, friendly embrace distracted from the ache pounding at his forehead. "I guess I can understand you putting your foot down."

She shrugged, sighing as she murmured, "I suppose this is why you don't kiss someone you have a history with . . . . Not unless you're absolutely certain about what you want, anyway."

The leaves in the cage shook a bit and a tiny, pink nose poked out. Biting her lip, Hermione's head tipped to one side as she waited for the creature to show itself. A long, pale-gold snout, followed by a sleek, furry body slowly emerged from beneath the plant.

Its eyes were a strange, slate-grey shade she wasn't certain she'd ever seen on a—"Oh, my God! Harry, look!"

Her giggly gasp made him curious, and he stepped up to look into the cage over her shoulder. His eyebrows shot up over the wire rims of his glasses as he found a ferret staring back at Hermione.

The creature moved strangely, as though it was confused, he thought. It neared the glass, reaching out to scrape the transparent surface with its tiny claws, and then hopping backward a bit.

She giggled again. "Isn't it so adorable? This is the one! Just look at those eyes! Aren't they so pretty?"

Harry chewed his lip as he watched the ferret tip its face side-to-side. He got the unsettling impression it was trying to understand her words.

"I don't know," he said after a few moments. "It kind of reminds me of that time Draco got transfigured."

She turned on a heel to look at him. "But don't you see? That's exactly what makes it perfect!" Spinning back toward the cage, she grinned. "With that whole 'we're better than you' thing the Malfoys used to do to his family, he's  _got_  to see the humor in having control of something that resembles them!"

A smirk tugged one corner of Harry's mouth upward. "I guess I can see that." He stepped up to the side of the cage, examining the breeding documentation affixed to the outside. "Should we name it Lucius, then? Says here it's a male."

"No," she said, crinkling the bridge of her nose as she leaned closer, her gaze fixed on the ferret's. There was one name she heard in her head as she imagined reprimanding the creature for incorrect behavior. "Draco. We're  _definitely_  calling him Draco."


	2. Hermione's New Companion

**Chapter Two**

Hermione's New Companion

They were running late by the time they reached the station. Hermione wasn't surprised Ron and Ginny weren't waiting for them on Platform Nine and Three Quarters. She and Harry had been due to meet them easily twenty minutes ago.

She'd gotten caught up making sure she had  _everything_  Ron might need to keep the ferret comfortable. Harry thought she might just be mad as he watched her purchase a spacious cage—which, of course, meant having to get a new one for Crookshanks, as well—nice bedding, a water bottle and plenty of food.

Harry lugged both their trunks as she hurried along the platform, carrying the two cages. She'd almost offered to get Harry a new familiar, but then she knew he'd say no—they were all painfully aware nothing could ever replace Hedwig.

He only hoped Ron and Ginny had managed to save them seats.

Somehow, they made it onto the train with their burdens just in time for the doors slide closed behind them.

It occurred to Hermione that she might've jostled the cages in her rush, and she set them down. Opening one, and then the second, she pulled Crookshanks out. Giving the sour-faced ginger feline a quick examination, she hugged him to her.

Harry could only watch, laughing. Anyone else tried to snuggle that cat and they'd lose a limb.

Replacing Crookshanks and locking his change, she turned to the ferret. He came to her hand easily—surprising after the fit he'd given the animal handler at the shop—and she eased him from the cage.

"Draco, you poor thing," she whispered, shaking her head as she met the creature's slate eyes. "Are you okay?"

Harry's brow furrowed as Hermione examined the sleek, furry little beast. "Never thought you'd say  _that_ , did you?"

She laughed, shaking her head. Draco seemed perfectly fine, if a bit startled. "Sorry, little guy," she whispered, hugging him to her, as she had with Crookshanks, before setting him back in his cage and locking it.

"All right," she said, climbing to her feet. "Let's find Ron and Ginny."

By the time they found the Weasleys, they were relieved to see the pair had, in fact, managed to save them seats. Ginny greeted Harry with a kiss, and Hermione with a hug. Hermione was happy Ron wasn't staring daggers at her, anymore. She wasn't certain she could ask for more than that.

Ginny pulled back from her embrace with the other girl to nod toward the second cage—the one that didn't have an angry, mushed orange face pressed to the door. "Crookshanks getting lonely, was he?"

Hermione looked to the ferret's cage as though she'd forgotten him as Harry hoisted the trunks overhead. "Oh, no," she said with a laugh.

Setting Crookshanks' cage on the floor, she sat across from Ron, settling the second beside her. "This is for you."

Ron's brows pinched together as he looked from her to the cage, and back. "Me?"

She nodded, opening the cage door, but Draco seemed reluctant to come out. "Things have been weird between us. I wanted to get you something special, because I . . . I want us to be able to be friends, again."

His shoulders slumping, Ron shook his head. "We're always going to be friends, 'Mione."

Hermione darted her gaze from Ron, to Ginny, and back. She reached into the cage to stroke the ferret's coat, hoping to reassure the creature. "What's that, now?"

Ginny shrugged, smirking. "Well, you can imagine, we talked about it all summer. Finally, the other night, he just . . . realized."

Hermione felt a weight lift. "Really?"

"Yeah, yeah," Ron said, smiling in spite of himself. "But you still got me a present, so let's see."

"Okay." Hermione slipped a hand around the ferret, but held him inside the cage a moment. "Well, we were thinking what would be the perfect thing for you. And then we factored in the legendary Weasley humor, and . . . ."

She gently pulled the ferret out and set him in her lap.

Harry sat down on the other side of the cage as they waited for some response from either of the pair across from them. Ginny's eyes lit up, first.

"Oh, my God," she said, laughing. "I totally get it!"

Ron's face puckered. "I don't know; reminds me of Malfoy."

Ginny leaned over, speaking in a stage whisper. "I think that's the point."

A slow grin curved Ron's lips as he shook his head. "Okay, fine. You got me; that's a good one."

Harry moved forward a bit in his seat. "She even named him Draco."

"Oh, that is  _too_ good. Give him here, then," Ron said with a chuckle, holding his hands out for the ferret.

Hermione reached over, placing the sleek creature in Ron's hands. The moment she let go, it started squirming and wriggling, trying to get free.

Frowning, Ron shifted the ferret to one hand. As he gestured for Hermione to give him the cage with the other, Draco nipped at his finger.

"Ow!" He opened his hand, releasing the little beast.

The ferret darted across the car, up, over Harry's lap, and up again, unto Hermione's shoulder. She barely refrained from shrieking. She hardly feared the thing, but its race along her arm to burrow beneath the hair at the back of her neck had startled her.

Ron seemed a little disheartened as he said, "I don't think it likes me."

"I'm  _so_  sorry, Ron." Hermione shook her head, reaching a hand to stroke the frightened creature comfortingly. "I don't know what happened, he's been friendly, so far."

"Maybe he's bonded with you," Harry offered with a shrug.

"Already?"

Again, he shrugged, turning his head to meet Hermione's gaze. "We can ask Hagrid about it when we get to Hogwarts, he'd know."

"Well," Ginny said with a grin, "looks like you're the one who gets to tell  _Draco_  what to do."

Hermione couldn't help a laugh as she sat back, still petting the ferret's warm, furry coat. Looking to Crookshanks' cage, she mouthed an apology to her cat.

_Two familiars?_  She thought, chewing her lip as she listened to the little creature's breath so close to her ear. Who'd  _ever_ heard of such a thing?


	3. The Shy Ferret

**Chapter Three**

The Shy Ferret

As luck would have it— _her_  luck as of late, anyway, Hermione thought—Hagrid was nowhere to be found when they arrived on the castle grounds. Professor Flitwick informed them, when they stopped him in the midst of rushing down a corridor, the half-giant was getting Grawp settled with a  _very_  patient Wizarding family who'd been willing to look after him while Hagrid attended his duties at Hogwarts.

She supposed she could always talk to Professor McGonagall about the problem, but she didn't want to pester the new headmistress, nor did she really mind the ferret.

However . . . .

When she sent Crookshanks up to her dorm room, the ferret refused to go. The lithe creature was curled around the back of Hermione's neck, and she couldn't tell if he was actually asleep, or if he might be bright enough to be pretending. The feel of its snoring little breaths against the skin just below her ear tickled.

So many people they'd started Hogwarts standing beside had chosen not to return. Seamus, Padma, Blaise Zabini, Hannah . . . . She supposed that was all right, though. She had _no_ idea how she would handle Human-Draco seeing her second familiar. No doubt he'd have a meltdown when he heard what she named it. It would be laughable, certainly, but an unnecessary stress she wasn't certain she wanted right now.

As she sat at dinner, Draco stirred. Every now and again, as she picked at certain foods, a tiny, clawed, hand-like paw would tap at her cheek. At first, she was surprised, then she'd thought it was cute. By the time desserts came 'round, she sighed and rolled her eyes. But then maybe a ferret liking pumpkin pie wasn't so unusual. Honestly, she'd just be happy if he hadn't gotten any of his impromptu meal in her hair.

She ignored that Harry and Ron were laughing at her predicament. Though, she was certain Ron's laughter was more out of slowly-realized relief that the creature  _hadn't_  wanted to go to him.

The first years who noticed the witch-familiar pair seemed in shiny-eyed envy. They wondered if they would have such a bond with their chosen companions. Hermione didn't have the heart to break their misconceptions, so she simply smiled and apologized as they tried to pet the ferret and it burrowed back, disappearing beneath her hair, once more.

* * *

"Oh, c'mon, please?" She said, holding Draco with both hands. His little, grasping paws clung to her shirt collar.

Ginny held in a laugh as she, Parvati and Romilda watched the girl argue with the creature that night in their dorm room as they were getting ready for bed. Crookshanks watched, seemingly unamused, from where he lounged at the foot of Hermione's bed.

"He certainly has taken a shine to you," the ginger-haired witch muttered between giggles.

Hermione sighed, her shoulders slumping as she gave up for a moment. "I wish I knew why he's behaving like this." Though, she did wince at her own words. She had so little experience with this animal—or with any ferret, really—that she had no way of knowing if this was his normal behavior, and she didn't like speaking on things she wasn't certain of, even accidentally.

"Oh, well, my cousin had a guinea pig," Romilda said, her dark eyes wide as she nodded. "It's mum died before it was ready to ween, and so it had to be hand-raised for a bit. It acted like that. Maybe your ferret was orphaned?"

Hermione wasn't certain her shoulders could droop any lower. The poor thing! Well, now she just felt terrible for trying to force him off her.

Sighing, she turned, using the reflection of the mirror above the bureau to meet the creature's gaze. "Please? It's only for a moment while I change into my nightclothes."

As she reached up a hand to pet the ferret, he sank into her hands, finally allowing her to pull him from his perch. "Phew," she breathed the sound as she set the ferret on her bed. Draco darted up, curling into a ball beside her pillow.

"Thank God," she said, with an airy laugh.

She whipped her jumper over her head and turned to the pile of nightclothes she'd set out  _before_  she'd gotten into an argument with a glorified rodent. Honestly, Crookshanks had never given her any such trouble!

As she unbuttoned her shirt and pulled it off, she noticed in the mirror that the ferret was staring at her. "Impatient little beast," she grumbled under her breath as she hurried through changing.

"Honestly, though," Ginny said with a shrug as the girls all climbed into their beds, "maybe it's better that it bonded with you, than Ron?"

Hermione frowned as she met her friend's gaze, her hand falling, almost automatically, to stroke the ferret's sleek coat. "How so?"

A grin curved the corners of Ginny's mouth upward. "Can you picture him putting up with _Draco_ in his bed?"

Giggling in spite of herself, Hermione felt a bit better as she heard the other girls join in the laughter.

She finally lay back, snuggling her cheek against her pillow. With a sigh, she stared up at canopy of her four-post bed. This was it. Her last year calling this castle home.

Smiling sadly, she turned on her side. The ferret unfurled himself and stretched out, moving—tentatively, she thought—onto the pillow. She watched as he drew near, settling close to her head and curling up into a ball, once more.

"Oh, well," she said in a whisper, reaching up to scratch the ferret's furry little snout. "I suppose there  _are_  worse things."


	4. Inappropriate Little Beast

**Chapter Four**

Inappropriate Little Beast

"You woke up and the ferret was  _where_?"

Hermione winced, her shoulders hunching as she shot Harry a withering look across the table. Trust the boy to only listen to the hushed conversation she was having with Ginny when the word  _boobs_  was mentioned.

Rather than answering, she folded her arms before her and dropped her head down against them. The troublesome beast clung to her shoulder, and her sudden motion jostled him so that he tumbled down, hitting the table with a soft thud.

A sound of shock strangled out of Draco's throat and Hermione raised her head to frown at him. That seemed all the invitation  _Draco_  needed. He darted into her shirt.

Hermione bit her lip to keep from shrieking. Clamping her arms around herself to keep the ferret from going anywhere further, she shot up from the table. Tossing angry glares over her shoulder at Harry and the two Weasleys, she hurried through the Great Hall.

She ignored their laughter as she exited the vast chamber and rounded into the corridor, making a beeline for the girls' bathroom.

Was it not bad enough that she'd woken up with the bothersome creature snuggled between her breasts? No,  _no_ , clearly not! Because _now_  it seemed to think that  _under her blouse_ was a perfectly acceptable hiding place!

Hermione was seething by the time she threw open the door and stomped in. Certainly she'd had sympathy for his antics after Romilda's observation that he was likely an orphan, but honestly! A young lady's bra was only intended for one purpose—and that purpose was _not_ housing scared ferrets!

"All right, you," she said in a hiss after closing the door securely behind her. "Out!"

She dropped her arms, but the creature—despite squirming in her hold as she'd made her way there—refused to budge, now. Groaning, she pulled at her open collar and peered down, into her shirt.

Those beady, slate-grey eyes stared up at her and she sighed. "My God, this is ridiculous."

Shaking her head, she pulled up the bottom of her jumper and untucked her blouse from her skirt. Reaching inside, she grabbed the ferret and attempted to gently extract him from his hiding place. Not a simple task with his little paw-hands clinging to her bra.

Finally wrestling the creature free, she set him down on the lip of the nearest sink. As she righted her clothes, the ferret's hind leg twitched—an anxious movement.

"Ah-ah," she said, shaking a finger at him. "You stay put!"

He drooped forward a bit, then. If she didn't know any better, she could swear the lithe beast was actually hanging his head.

Smoothing her hands over her straightened jumper and skirt, she kept a steady eye on Draco. Feeling properly sorted—though she thought there might definitely be ferret claw marks dotting her cleavage—she rested her palms on her hips.

"Now you listen to me, I am quite tired of your nonsense! You behave yourself, of I  _swear_  I will take you right back to that shop where I found you!"

The ferret blinked a few times, his head tipping side to side. Then he recoiled, pulling back as though wounded.

A frown tugged Hermione's lips downward. She had the oddest feeling he was deliberately playing on her sympathies.

Deliberate or not, it was working. She simply couldn't take watching his injured act. Her shoulders slumped.

"Oh . . . fine," she said in an angry whisper.

Reaching one hand toward him, she waited for Draco to relax. After a painfully long moment, he unfurled and crept toward her outstretched fingers.

Once he'd relaxed enough to let her stroke his fur, she slipped her hand around his middle and lifted him onto her shoulder.

"But—" She met his gaze in the mirror above the sink, again shaking her finger at him. "From this moment forward, no more hiding in my undergarments!" Even as she said that, she had a terrible flash through her mind of returning from classes—after finally managing to ease his nervous clinging so she might go  _anywhere_  without him—to find him in her drawer, snuggled up amongst her knickers.

She didn't know if he understood or not, but he contented himself with settling beneath her hair, as seemed to be becoming his usual hiding place. Sighing and shaking her head, she splashed some water on her face before returning to the Great Hall.

* * *

As Hermione sat in her first few classes that day she found something rather surprising. Every now and again, she would catch herself looking about the room. Her gaze trailed over desks, and seats, across the familiar faces of her fellow eighth years, and less-known seventh years.

Even though she knew he wasn't there, she felt a strange jolt at not seeing Draco Malfoy's face anywhere.

"Nonsense," she whispered to herself during potions as she jotted down Professor Slughorn's words. "What are you thinking, Hermione?"

Because there was  _no_  possible way she actually missed Draco Malfoy!


	5. Terrible Timing

**Chapter Five**

Terrible Timing

_Just Yesterday Morning . . . ._

"No, Mother," Draco said, grey eyes rolling so hard his lids fluttered as he crumpled up yet another letter from Pansy and tossed it carelessly over his shoulder.

Honestly, he already told the girl he'd be returning to Hogwarts, what more did she want?

"But, Draco," Narcissa began, blinking rapidly a few times as she shook her head, "this is your final year. Are you certain you don't want—?"

"Stop your fussing, Narcissa. If the boy wants . . . ." Lucius Malfoy's words trailed off as he caught the sudden, withering glare his son shot him.

So much fuss Draco, himself, had raised recently. He eighteen, now, no longer a child . . . . He didn't need their constant oversight . . . . They needed to let him make his own choices, or some such nonsense.

Sighing, Lucius set aside his morning cup of tea. "If the  _young man_ —" He gave Draco a pointed, displeased look, which said young man answered with a sneer. Oh, yes,  _that_ was a mature response. "Wants to go to on his own, let him."

"Thank you, Father," Draco said with a nod. That seemed the end of it.

Narcissa frowned, but held her tongue. After their son retreated to his room to fetch his trunk, she turned an unhappy glare on her husband.

Meeting her gaze, Lucius raised his brows. "Issue, beloved?"

"You know perfectly well the issue, Lucius," she said in a whisper, her tone acidic.

He barely held in a decidedly graceless groan as he refolded and set aside the newspaper he'd _just_ opened. "Honestly, Narcissa. He is not going to do anything so foolish as what you think."

"What I think is that he no longer wishes to be  _here_ , with us." She refused to speak what she  _truly_  thought—that was too painful. Draco had seemed so miserable since returning to Malfoy Manor after the War had ended that she worried he might use the guise of returning to Hogwarts to leave, and simply never return.

"Nonsense, he is a Malfoy," Lucius said with a haughty sniffle as he snatched up the paper, once more, and snapped it open. "He will always return here."

Shaking her head at his stubbornness, she turned on a heel and started toward the door.

"Where are you off to, then?"

She glanced over her shoulder at him. He'd not even lifted his gaze from the words before him to ask.

"At least one of us should bid him farewell before he leaves," she snapped as she stepped from the room.

* * *

Draco wished he could say the London air was pleasant, but then he never believed that. Though, not being shadowed by his mother certainly helped. In all the confusion, he'd yet to purchase a new wand. In fact, he'd barely left Malfoy Manor, at all. He didn't want to even set foot in Diagon Alley, but there was nothing to be done for it.

Olivander had reopened his shop, it was just a brief matter of popping in, finding a new one, and popping right back out, again. Draco winced. He hoped the old man wasn't holding a grudge. Or that he could at least overlook a grudge for the sake of a business transaction.

Bloody hell, he wouldn't even put up with this if there weren't amends to make.

He held in a sigh as he made his way along the cobblestone path, the street between shops crowded with students and their parents. No one seemed to pay him much mind, and he found himself unexpectedly relieved at that. After all, his family was infamous by now, and it was hardly as though his pale hair didn't make him stand out in a crowd.

Draco passed the entrance to Knockturn Alley and froze. Forcing a gulp down his throat, he turned his head and peered down the darkened passage.

For a fleeting moment, he could have sworn someone murmured his name.

Admittedly, he'd been curious what had become of the place since the War. And now, here he was. The look of smashed out windows and boarded up doors gracing the already twisted and gnarled shops raised goose bumps along his arms.

Yes, that unsettled feeling must be the cause of the whisper he imagined hearing.

Shaking his head, he turned away from the abandoned pathway. Only now, someone stood before him, blocking his progress.

Biting back on the urge to snap at the stranger, Draco only managed a tight, "Pardon me," as he tried to step around him.

"Aren't you Draco Malfoy?"

Draco sighed, his shoulders slumping. "I'm in no mood to chat, thanks."

"You're him," the stranger said, his voice smug.

Draco rolled his eyes, but his barbed reply never came as someone pulled him backward into Knockturn Alley.

He couldn't be certain what happened next. There was commotion around him, and he fought blindly at the hands holding him, but too late he heard the spell. The one he  _dreaded_  . . . .

Followed by another voice, speaking another spell. "Petrificus Totalus."

The utter helplessness was the most terrifying thing as he was scooped up and dropped into a sack. He was relatively certain he blacked out a moment.

By the time he could move, he found himself behind glass. He looked about, people were  _everywhere_. There was no way to tell if his assailants were among them. Spying the decorative shrubbery in the corner, he darted across the cage and vanished beneath the leaves.

He nodded his tiny, newly-elongated head as he thought over his predicament. He would simply . . . hide out here until the shop closed and then find a way out. Yes, that was it.

Fine mess, this was. He could hardly picture himself—all ferret-y—breaking out of the cage and trying to find his way back to Wiltshire in one piece. But then, what else could he—?

_That_  was when he heard it. That familiar voice. Hardly belonging to his favorite person in the world. Nor was he hers, but if anyone could figure out he was . . . well,  _him_ , it was her.

Emerging from the shrubbery, he crept across the cage, all the while his gaze locked on the chestnut eyes of Hermione Granger. He told himself the relief sweeping through him at the sight of her was only due to his circumstances. An odd feeling it was to shake his head at himself in this form. It didn't quite work, only resulting in a side-to-side tilting of his head.

"Draco," he heard clearly through the glass. "We're  _definitely_  calling him Draco."

_Oh_ , he thought as she called over the proprietor to scoop him from the cage.  _Someone's_ going  _to pay for her cheek_.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Ferrets are color blind, with the exception of red.
> 
> And, yes, for every chapter we have of Hermione's perspective, we will have one from Draco. So since the first four were Hermione, we're riding along with Draco until chapter eight.

**Chapter Six**

Not Bloody Likely

Draco was bumped, jarred, and even tossed in the air a time or two—something that happened so fast, he didn't even notice until he was in the air, only to hit the cage floor just as quickly—as Granger hurried through the station. Perhaps this was karma for making the proprietor work to get a handle on him back at the shop.

But what did anyone expect? The man smelled  _exactly_  as one might imagine an animal handler would.

All that motion came to an abrupt halt and he felt a light thud beneath him. Curious, he crept forward, but fingers grasped at the door and he immediately hopped backward, into the furthest recesses of the cage.

A pleasant scent tickled his nose, and he understood those were Granger's fingers. Draco realized that the entire trip from Diagon Alley, he'd been in fear that whoever had done this to him could have followed them and wrested his cage from her. Recognizing that she was still in possession of it put him at ease.

She cooed at her familiar, and Draco peeked out to see her hug that giant ginger beast to her breast.  _Lucky bastard_ , he thought with a chuckle while she put the cat away.

She reached a tentative hand into his cage, then. He expected her to grab him up and drag him out. Instead, she simply waited. She was  _waiting_  for him to come to her.

His head tipped to one side as he stared at her slender fingers. Had Granger always been so patient?

He edged forward, pressing himself into her waiting hand. She pulled him from the cage delicately, and then he found himself in the air with Granger meeting his gaze. This close to her face, he could make out tiny flecks of dark red in her irises amidst the shades of black, white, and grey that seemed all he could register in this form.

He banished a brief wonder of what that might look like through human eyes.

"Draco, you poor thing! Are you okay?"

"Never thought you'd say that, did you?"

Draco turned his little head, one corner of his mouth puckering in a sneer at Potter's question. But then he was being cradled. It took him a moment to register that Granger was hugging him, as she had her cat.

"Sorry little guy."

The embrace was far more comforting in the wake of the last hour of his life than he'd thought possible. And she held him so carefully. Granger was patient, and gentle? Who knew?

And she smelled nice. Dammit, all, why did she have to smell nice? All sugary and flowery.

But then she was pulling him away and setting him back inside the cage. Draco  _hmphed_  in his head. This cage business simply would  _not_  do!

Of course, the lock on the cage door had other ideas.

Again, he found himself jostled as Granger swung the cages side-to-side, making her way around people standing outside the cars. He had to listen as they stopped along the way and chatted with friends. He was only half-paying attention, but she was laughing with Longbottom about a hug, or some such nonsense?

Draco found himself simply grateful she stopped the motion of the cage frequently enough to keep him from wondering if ferrets could feel nauseated.

Then he was swung into a car and he saw the two youngest Weasel-bees. Finally, his cage was set down, again. And he heard the most dreadful thing imaginable.

"This is for you." She was talking to that ginger-haired oaf of a boyfriend of hers.

She'd bought him for  _Weasel-bee_? Bloody hell, he probably should have paid closer attention when they were talking.

Oh, no! That would _not_  do!

The cage door opened, but Draco ducked backward.

"Things have been weird between us. I wanted to get you something special, because I . . . I want us to be able to be friends, again."

So ginger-oaf  _wasn't_ her boyfriend? Draco pretended he didn't find that bit of news interesting.

Once more, she put her hand inside the cage. He thought she would again wait for him, but this time she reached back, searching, slow and blind, until she touched him. But she didn't grab him up, instead she merely stroked her fingers over him.

Draco slumped her under hand, surprised at how pleasant the simplest touches felt. Once he'd relaxed, she pulled him out and set him in her lap.

As he looked around, he noticed dim shades of red stuck out around the Weasel-bees' faces. He was glad he'd be able to pick them out of a crowd. All the easier to run the other way.

Then conversation erupted. And Draco was tempted to plot revenge as he listened to them laugh and talk about how he—as a bloody  _ferret_ —looked like . . . . Well,  _himself_.

"Well, give him here, then." The most  _awful_  words Draco could have hoped to hear!

Suddenly, Granger scooped him up—honestly, he'd been  _perfectly_  content in her lap—and held him out to Weasel-bee. The moment she released him, Draco started struggling.

No, no,  _no_. This was  _not_  happening! If he let this stand, he might well stay a ferret forever!

He watched as Granger turned to grab his cage. In a panic, he twisted his head around snapping his teeth over the tip of one of ginger-oaf's fingers.

Weasel-bee dropped him to the floor. The moment he was free and mobile, Draco darted away. He couldn't go back into her lap, he would be too easy to retrieve, there, nor was he setting foot—paw? Oh, whatever—back in that cage.

He scurried up, over Potter and Granger, and found a perfect hiding spot as he reached her shoulder. Burrowing beneath her hair, he curled up, clinging to her collar.

Draco breathed out a little hissing sound—of course, in his head, it was a triumphant chuckle—as Potter supplied excuses  _for_  him. As little Weasle-bee voiced the obviousness that Draco would likely not return to her brother.

As no one forced him to return.

Granger settled back against her seat, stroking his fur idly. He couldn't help a smug feeling of satisfaction. He might be a ferret, but he could still win an argument with enough fuss.


	7. A Cozy Spot

**Chapter Seven**

A Cozy Spot

Draco was still lapping a bit of pumpkin-cinnamon mush from beneath his claws when Granger turned toward her trunk and began pulling out bundles of fabric. He only half-listened as she conversed with the other girls. And Dear  _Merlin_ , were girls chatty; all frivolous nonsense about how well some of their male classmates had turned out over the oddly-long summer since the War's end.

So what if Longbottom had trimmed down and took a page from Granger's book by getting his teeth fixed? Was that really reason for . . . what was her name Rhonda, Romira? Oh, whatever, it wasn't like she mattered—regardless of her name, that was hardly reason for  _any_  girl to be in a tizzy, now was it?

He looked down over Granger's shoulder, noticing as she separated one small pile of grey from the lot she was sorting and set it atop the bureau. After a few more trips back and forth, she shook out the clothes she'd placed aside—a flimsy little shirt and flannel shorts—and Draco realized . . . .

He was staring at her nightclothes.

Before he could stop himself, he snapped his gaze to lock on Granger's in the mirror above the bureau. He was, of course, valiantly ignoring that in the corner of that same reflection, he could see that beast of hers watching him with a particularly foul glare.

"All right," she said, tapping the polished wood surface. "Down you go, Draco."

He swiveled his head, looking from her eyes, to the spot she'd indicated and back. Oh, no, no, no! There was _no_  way he was budging with that cat looking at him like he was dinner. Maybe it looked angry all the time, who knew? He wasn't going to risk finding out.

Granger wasn't having it. Suddenly she was tugging at him and growling her words—cute effect, that was. He put every bit of strength he could muster into  _not_  being removed from her shoulder.

Then, she gave up. Somehow, she still won the battle by uttering the magic words, "Please? It's only for a moment while I change into my nightclothes."

Dinner and a show? Well, there  _were_  worse things. He obediently hopped down, scampering to the bed and as far as he could get from that feline beast before he settled in.

When he turned his attention back to the girl, she was already whipping her jumper off, over the top of her head. He had a perfect view in the mirror of her unbuttoning her uniform blouse and peeling it off to reveal a lacy, shade-of-pale-grey undergarment.

He seemed to forget how to blink as he watched her. She stepped out of her skirt and he tried not to let his eyes wander from where her fingers now plucked at her bra. Tried, and _failed_.

Draco gave a defiant snuffle at that. He couldn't help being curious. After all, he'd always speculated that Granger was probably fit beneath her school robes, but how was he to know he'd been so,  _very_ , correct?

So what if his gaze traced over her bum—clad in knickers that matched her bra—he was a bloody ferret! No one would notice.

Then, from his periphery, he caught her staring daggers at him in the mirror. He winced and recoiled a bit into the little ball he'd made of himself. Maybe she had noticed?

But she didn't throw anything at him, or get overly angry—only a few grumbled words—before she finished pulling on her nightclothes. The moment she'd pulled off her bra made him vehemently curse being a ferret.

She strode back across the room and climbed into bed . . . and  _again_  with the girls chatting. Little Weasley said something that made him thank every star in the sky that he'd stuck to Granger's neck on the train.

Granger was stroking his fur just then, so he almost didn't hear the redheaded girl say, "Can you picture him putting up with _Draco_ in his bed?"  _Him_  being her brother, of course.

Draco was relatively certain that if ferrets could vomit, he'd have done so right then.

Granger laughed, and then she settled back, pulling up the covers. Her hair shifted against the pillow as she turned onto her side, sending a sweet hint of that inviting scent of hers toward him. He found a strange comfort in that and drifted closer, before he even realized he'd moved, to settle beside her head.

"Oh, well," she said in a whisper. "I suppose there  _are_  worse things."

He didn't know if he was distracted by her words echoing his earlier thought, or the way the very edges of her nails gently scraped at his snout. Something, though, made him wonder about that snippet of conversation. There were worse things than having a ferret in her bed? Or there were worse things than the thought of  _Draco_   _Malfoy_  in her b—?

Oh, dear  _God_ , where was his mind running to? She meant the ferret-thing, clearly. She  _had_  to mean that. Because there was no  _way_  she could mean the other thing—he and Granger didn't see each other that way, after all. Not even remotely. Never mind that she'd only spoken loud enough for herself—and by unknowing extension, him—to hear.

Pushing it out of his mind, he settled down and forced himself to go to sleep.

Until a low, angry grumble met his ears. He dragged his eyelids open slowly. He couldn't be sure how much time had passed, but the sky through the windows was still dark.

His tiny mouth puckering in thought, he looked around for the source of the noise.

There, at the foot of the bed, a pair of eyes gleamed. Oh, damn that stupid, bloody cat! He'd forgotten all about that beast! Even so, he knew what the cat's shuffling and posturing indicated.

Crookshanks was getting ready to pounce. Draco wanted to move, to dart away and hide, but his stupid little ferret-body was stricken, paralyzing him on the spot.

Granger turned in her sleep, just then. The motion distracted the feline  _just_  long enough and Draco snatched the opportunity. The quick shift of the cat's attention let him regain control of his body and he shot forward, beneath the covers.

He burrowed beneath a second layer of fabric and curled up, safe in the knowledge that Crookshanks wouldn't pounce on Granger  _just_  to get to him. Any other soul, probably, but not Granger.

A dull, steady thud offered comfort, as did the sudden closeness of that damned, sugary, flowery scent. He was so drained from this very long day, that he was already drifting off, again, when he realized he'd scurried his way straight into Granger's nightshirt. That thudding was her heartbeat, and her scent was so close because he was nestled right between her bare—

_All right, Draco, bloody hell, just go to sleep_.

He'd just deal with whatever fit she threw in the morning _when_  morning got there.


	8. Color Me Surprised

**Chapter Eight**

Color Me Surprised

"You have got to be joking!"

Draco blinked his eyes open slowly, wondering what Granger's voice sounded all tight and shrill about. But then he looked up and realized . . . . She was holding open the neck of her shirt and glaring at him.

It wasn't until that very moment he remembered precisely where he'd fallen asleep that night. In all their years feuding at Hogwarts, he didn't think he'd ever seen her face as livid as it was at that moment.

Despite his curiosity, he _refused_  to turn his head and look about. Though, the minor wash of illumination that would provide an infinitely better view of his surroundings made that idea  _rather_ tempting.

_Don't do it, Draco . . . ._  The way she looked right now, if he pulled any sort of antics, she just might commit ferret-cide. Which wasn't even a word, but it in this case, he was relatively certain it applied.

"All right, you. Out!"

He hardly wanted to crawl out of his cozy hiding spot, but he also didn't think it was safe to make her any angrier than she already was. Given the choice between an uphappy Crookshanks, and an upset Granger, he wasn't at all sure which was more dangerous.

It occurred to him—as he scurried out of her shirt and settled into a ball on her pillow—that perhaps antics that were more human than ferret were exactly what he  _should_  be doing. Though, at this early hour and running on interrupted sleep, he wasn't quite certain what those would be.

He must've drifted off as he pondered this, because the next thing he knew, Granger was holding him beneath a running tap. Instinctively, he started to squirm in her grasp, despite how soothing and gentle she was being, and how pleasant the warm water felt.

"Oh, no you don't," she whispered as she massaged the soap into his wet fur. "I don't know if anyone's ever told you this, but as cute as you are, ferrets get  _very_  smelly, very fast," she said, the bridge of her nose crinkling.

Draco stopped struggling immediately—if he had hips, he would prop his fists on them and glare at her. Him, smelly? Honestly!

"I didn't even notice until took off my nightshirt," she was saying, shaking her head as she turned him delicately beneath the tap to rinse his fur. "There was this smell coming from it, and so I checked you and there it was. Which meant _I_ was smelly, because of you, thanks  _very_  much. Practically had to bathe  _twice_."

He wondered, as she switched off the water and set to drying him in a hand towel, if she spoke to Crookshanks like this, as well. As though she expected that they understood every word she said.

"There we are." She smiled lifting him in both hands so he was eye-level with her. "All clean and dry."

Draco shook his head side-to-side and snuffled out a sound that was almost a sneeze.

She laughed and gave him another go-over with the towel. "Well,  _mostly_  dry. But at least you smell nice, now."

Granger set him on her shoulder, seeming to expect it as he curled around the back of her neck. As she exited the washroom, he puzzled over her mood-change. She'd been so angry with him just a little while ago, but she'd let that go  _so_  easily that she was smiling and laughing now?

Was it because he needed her care?

_Draco, stop it. Once you're you again, she's going to jinx you straight into next year for where she found you this morning!_  Even as he reprimanded himself, the rocking motion of her shoulders swaying as she walked, combined with his constantly interrupted rest this last handful of hours, lulled him to sleep.

* * *

He awoke— _again_ —tumbling down, over Granger's head, and smacking into the hard wood of one of the tables in the Great Hall. Startled, he swung his head about as he tried to gain his bearings. She lifted her head to look at him.

Draco slumped a bit, prepared to crawl back onto her shoulder. He was  _really_  going to have to try to stay awake and figure out some way to point her in the direction he needed.

Then he saw it. That face. A fleeting image glimpsed during all that commotion, yesterday. During that horrible moment at the mouth of Knockturn Alley.

He didn't know who that was, nor could he tell if they spotted him, but he wasn't waiting to find out. She was going to kill him for it, but he shot forward, straight into the first available hiding place.

A few moments later, after she'd pulled him from her bra, he couldn't help that he was twitchy. He was still a bit jumpy after that unexpected glimpse. At least one of the people who'd done this to him was here, at Hogwarts. And there was nothing he could do about it like this. He wasn't really paying attention, but he was somehow acutely aware of Granger shaking her finger in his face as she ranted at him.

Draco simply hung his head. He understood why she was angry, but honestly . . . . He'd have to remember to explain  _everything_ when he could speak, again.

Well, if she  _let_ him.

* * *

She fidgeted in class that afternoon. He really wished she wouldn't. It was hardly as though he could take notes like this, but still, he was  _trying_  to listen to Professor Slughorn.

It seemed as though in each class today, she'd taken time to glance about the room at random intervals. This time around, she sighed and whispered to herself.

"Nonsense. What are you thinking, Hermione?"

But that was when Granger said it . . . .

Her voice had dropped so low, now, that even he barely heard her say under her breath, "So  _what_  if Malfoy's not here?"

All that fidgeting and turning because she'd been looking for  _him_? He wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't heard that with his own ears, just now.

Sneaking his head over the edge of her collar, he nuzzled his face against the side of her neck. Absently, she raised her free hand while she continued jotting down the professor's words, rubbing the tips of her fingers over his fur.


	9. Trouble in Paradise

**Chapter Nine**

Trouble in Paradise

"Now," Hermione said that night in her dorm room. "We're not going to have any more issues, are we?"

Ginny bit her lip to hold in a giggle as she observed. "You realize you're speaking to a ferret, yes?"

The brown-haired girl rolled her eyes, smiling at the silliness of it. "He's  _going_  to learn." Scooping the ferret from her shoulder, she held him in front of her face to meet his gaze. "Aren't you?"

Draco stretched a bit, sniffing the tip of her nose.

From the other side of the room, Romilda laughed while she pulled on her nightclothes. "That's so cute; like he gave you a kiss."

He snapped his head around to look at Romilda, his enormous, gleaming eyes narrowed. He'd honestly just been trying to express that he understood, but a comment like that was only bound to get him into even  _more_  trouble once he was no longer furry.

"Kissed by  _Draco_ ," Hermione said with a laugh of her own as she set the ferret down beside her pillow. "Just another thing I never thought I'd say."

He did his best to remain obedient while she stripped out of her school uniform and got into her nightclothes. Well . . . aside from his gaze wandering— _again_ —but he could hardly help it. Simply his curiosity getting the better of him— _again_. Nothing to fuss over.

After she'd snuggled down in her bed and set her head upon her pillow, he leaned forward. This time he pressed the tip of his nose against her cheek. She turned her head to look at him, and he froze, uncertain how to express his thoughts.

If he simply shot beneath the covers, she'd only extract him and scold him, as she had that morning, for fear he'd sneak into her shirt. But he couldn't stay out in the open like this, either. Not with that great ginger beast eyeing him, again.

It felt utterly ridiculous—were he human, how hard he started shaking would have looked  _exactly_  as forced as it actually was.

A few moments passed before she let out an exasperated breath. "Fine." Gently slipping a hand around his middle to lift him, she raised her covers and settled him on the center of her chest. "Above the shirt, this time, thanks," she said in hissing whisper.

With a sigh of relief as she let the covers fall over him, he let go of his violent trembling. Of course, he realized as he curled into a ball and closed his eyes, he would have preferred beneath the shirt—who  _wouldn't?_ —but he supposed this would have to do.

And for the second night in a row, Draco Malfoy fell asleep listening to the soft, steady thudding of Hermione Granger's heart.

* * *

The following morning, Hermione tried to catch Professor McGonagall as she strode through the corridors. However, the strained look on the elder witch's face as she hurried along silenced Hermione, each time. Something was clearly troubling the woman, and Hermione didn't want to pester her simply to ask if Hagrid would return, soon.

Draco spent most of the day hidden beneath her hair, again. He drifted in and out of sleep. Every so often, she could hear his little, ferret-y snores in her ear. Already she was so accustomed to him being there that she didn't even feel the weight of him curled against the back of her neck, just behind her collar.

At the end of classes that day, Professor McGonagall poked her salt-and-pepper head through the door of the Potions room. "Horace?"

The teacher looked up, his brows shooting up as he smiled. "Yes, Head Matron?"

"I would like to borrow Miss Parkinson for a moment."

Before Slughorn could call for Pansy to collect her things, the dark-haired Slytherin girl made a disgusted sound in the back of her throat. "Class is almost over. Can't it wait just a few minutes?"

Even Hermione couldn't help wincing at the withering glare McGonagall leveled in the other girl's direction.

Swallowing hard, Pansy nodded and began gathering her books. "All right, I'm going."

Hermione only shook her head as she exchanged a glance with Harry, seated beside her. She wondered why Pansy had bothered returning to Hogwarts when she clearly no longer wanted to be there.

* * *

In the courtyard, she sat with a book open in her lap, as Harry and Ron discussed . . . something or other about Quidditch? She was only half-listening.

Draco closed his eyes, snuggling more tightly against the back of her neck. He thought he might just die of boredom before he could ever be human, again. Did these two  _ever_  discuss anything else?

A shadow fell across the words before Hermione, and she looked up, raising a hand to shield her eyes from the afternoon sun. She was so surprised to see Pansy standing next to her that she thought it a wonder she didn't jump.

The only thing more surprising was the look of concern on the other witch's face.

Her expression forced Hermione to speak. "Pansy?"

After a moment of shifting in a very uncertain, very un-Pansy-Parkinson way, Pansy finally spoke, her gaze shifting from Hermione, to Harry and back. "I know this probably sounds weird, but have . . . either of you heard from Draco?"

"No," Harry said, at the same moment as Hermione responded, "Why would you think we had?"

"No, no." Pansy shook her head. "It was stupid to ask, it's just . . . . He said he was coming back this year. And Professor McGonagall was asking if I'd heard from him." She shrugged, biting her lip before she went on. "Because she owled his parents that they should have let her know he wouldn't be attending. They wrote back that the last they saw him, he was leaving to come here."

Hermione forced a gulp, unwilling to admit she felt sympathy toward Pansy for a moment. "That still doesn't explain why you thought—"

"Never mind," she snapped, dark eyes narrowing. "I said it was stupid. Just something he'd mentioned about making amends to some people." She flicked her gaze between Harry and Hermione once more as she finished the sentence. With that, she turned on her heel and stomped away.

Hermione had ignored the feel of the ferret curling tighter and tighter around her neck while Pansy had been there. But now . . . .

Looking to Ron and Harry—who both eyed her hair where it fell against her shoulders—she reached up. Extracting Draco from his hiding place, she pulled him in front of her face to meet his slate-grey gaze.

"You _must_  be joking," she murmured, the anger that outweighed her curiosity as to how he'd gotten this way edging her tone.


	10. The Things I Do For You

**Chapter Ten**

The Things I Do For You

"I can't believe you!" Hermione raged as she tore through her trunk. The ferret sat at the foot of the bed, eye-level with her. Every now and again as she growled and hollered, she felt bad, because he'd hang his head and pull himself into a ball.

And then she'd remember that was probably—she wouldn't simply say  _was_  in the definitive sense, until she was one-hundred-percent certain—Draco Malfoy sitting there. Playing the cute and defenseless card on her.

As unferret-like as the creature acted, her attempt to break a charm that might have been cast on him had failed. Failed so  _spectacularly_ , in fact, that it had resulted in a kickback, causing her wand to jolt her hand.

She wasn't even going to reflect on what waking up to find him in questionable places would mean when this was all sorted if that . . . that  _creature_  was who she thought he was!

Finally, she found what she'd been searching for. "A-ha," she shouted, startling Draco as she pulled out the breeding documentation she'd gotten from the shop. It was  _this_  . . . this bit of stamped, formal-looking parchment, that gave her pause in outright declaring the ferret  _was_  Draco.

She was about to bounce to her feet when she noticed Draco still sitting there. Sighing, she shook her head and shifted over, sweeping her hair from her shoulder.

"C'mon, then," she whispered in an angry hiss—it was hardly as though she could expect the ferret to  _walk_  all the way to Professor McGonagall's office.

Draco approached cautiously—half-convinced this was a rouse. That he'd settle comfortably against her neck, and she'd roll up that parchment in her hand and swat him within an inch of his currently little life.

But then, if he didn't go with her, she might be all . . . fickle, and Granger-ish, and simply decide against telling the Head Matron her suspicions.

Hanging his head, he stretched out, gripping onto her shirt with his front paws. He eyed the documents in her hand, all the while. When she made  _no_  move to swat him, the tension flooded from his tiny body and he moved along, settling in the crook where her neck met her shoulder.

Again, she sighed, shaking her head as she climbed to her feet and started for the door.

* * *

By the time Hermione had finished the story of how the ferret-who-might-be-Draco had come into her possession, Professor McGonagall was wide-eyed. She sat, tipping her head this way and that as she watched the creature.

Draco shifted his head, side-to-side, holding the elder witch's gaze as she moved.

Blinking she sat back, clearing her throat. "And you already tried to break the charm on him?"

"Yes, and not only did it not work, it . . . ." Her voice trailed off as she glanced at her wrist.

"Miss Granger?"

"Sorry, Professor," the girl said, shaking her head. "I just hadn't noticed, before, but it looks like my wand actually burned me in the backlash." She held her hand out over the desk, for her favorite teacher to see.

Frowning, Professor McGonagall leaned forward, examining the small, round mark on the heel of Hermione's palm. Her brow furrowed as the ferret slunk forward, his little pink nose twitching as he peered at the injury, as well.

The woman shifted back, picking up the documents her student had presented. "And no one else knows about this?" she asked, her gaze skimming the verifications.

"Harry and Ron  _guessed_  when I did, but no, no one for certain." Hermione pouted, shaking her head and looking away from the ferret. "Why?"

" _Because_  of this documentation, Miss Granger," the elder witch said with frown. "I can see why you had misgivings. This does appear quite official. And given the space of time between Mr. Malfoy leaving his parents' home, and when you happened across him in the shop . . . ." The teacher sat back, pinching between her eyes with thumb and forefinger. "I would have to say this is far from a prank. Someone went to great lengths to plan this."

Hermione reached out, stroking Draco's sleek fur idly with the tips of her fingers for comfort. "So, I was right? Someone did this to him  _on purpose_?"

McGonagall nodded. "I should say. I think that is  _exactly_  why a simple charm-break didn't work."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, as she watched the Head Matron pull out her wand and lightly wave it along Draco's small form.

Nodding to whatever this scrutiny told her, Professor McGonagall lowered her wand and sighed. "The spell used to transfigure him was tampered with."

Draco pressed himself against Granger's stroking fingers, needing the peace offered by her simple gesture of petting him. He did  _not_  like the way this conversation was turning out.

Hermione dropped her eyes to the ferret, who was now cuddling against her hand. "Tampered with,  _how_?"

The older woman's expression became troubled as she steepled her fingers. "The best way I can explain it would be to say it's been locked."

Hermione's eyebrows shot up.

"Presumably to make turning him back difficult, if not—"

"Impossible . . . ."

McGonagall nodded, her features pinching. "Further examinations will help to determine exactly how to unlock the charm, but I can't say how long that will take."

He pretended not to notice the way Granger's hold trembled—he wasn't willing to think she might be rattled on his behalf—as she asked, "But we  _will_ be able to turn him back, right?"

"I believe so, but again, there is no way to know how long it will take to pinpoint how to break this, particular, transfiguration charm. I will inform his parents, of course, they need to know he's safe, and—"

"Professor, with all due respect, you just told me someone set this up. How can you  _possibly_  say he's safe?"

The ferocity in the younger witch's voice caused the ferret to snap his head up to look at her. She was getting all worked up like this over  _him_?

"Miss Granger, please. If I may?" the elder witch said, trying for a compassionate expression, but she was battling her own surprise at hearing Hermione Granger's anger on  _Draco Malfoy's_  behalf.

Schooling her features, Hermione nodded, realizing she had overstepped her bounds by snapping at the Head Matron, no matter how respectfully she'd gone about it.

"I was going to suggest that in the meanwhile, you keep Mr. Malfoy with you."

Chestnut eyes shot wide.

"He has been safe in your care, yes?"

Again, Hermione nodded.

"Then he stays with you while the examinations are under way. You are to tell  _no one_ —save for Mr. Potter, and Mr. Weasley, since they seem already aware—of what has happened. Do I make myself clear?"

"Perfectly," Hermione said, swallowing hard.

"Good. Tomorrow, after classes bring him back here. We will perform one examination a day, so as not to wear him out. And I will call a staff meeting." She pointed at the falsified documents before her. "We'll see if these can tell us anything."

"Then for now?"

"For now, you may return to your evening, Miss Granger."

Hermione stood, bidding her farewell before she turned and exited the office. Once outside, she set Draco on her shoulder, uncertain what else to do with him.

"No more under the shirt business, or I  _swear_  I'll flatten you before we can get you human again. Understand?"

Draco leaned up, tapping his nose to her cheek.

Huffing out a deep sigh, she turned and started down the corridor. "And I wasn't joking. Ferrets really do get stinky, Draco."

She bit her lip to hold in a giggle as he drooped against her shoulder.


	11. The Ferret Board

**Chapter Eleven**

The Ferret Board

Unable to wait long for answers—and mildly inspired by the concept of the Ouija Board—Hermione took matters into her own hands shortly before bed that night. The fact that the ferret-head-wobble for  _yes_ , and the ferret-head-wobble for  _no_  didn't look too terribly dissimilar prompted her decision to find a more precise way to communicate with Draco.

Taking a pair of scissors to a crisp page of parchment, she set out squares with each letter of the alphabet, numbers zero-through-nine, and the words  _yes_  and  _no_. She had a second fresh scroll open in front of her to record the conversation.

They—she, Draco-the-Ferret, Harry and Ginny—sat in a currently-unused classroom that evening. Ron had offered to play lookout outside the door. Hermione thought perhaps he was embarrassed now at feeling bad on the train two days ago, when Draco hadn't wanted to go to him . . . now that he knew Draco was,  _in fact_ , Draco.

She wasn't certain she could blame him. As it was, she and Draco were going to have to sit down and have a long chat once they broke the charm on him. A chat she already imagined would involve a lot of angry yelling on her part, and—if he was half as intelligent as she'd always thought he was—a  _lot_  of looking abashed and apologizing on his part.

Admittedly, the ferret scrambling about to touch his little pink nose to the squares he needed was likely not the fastest form of communication. However, she was certain it would be the most precise method, and thus not open to much misinterpretation.

She began with the most logical questions first. "Do you know who did this to you?"

_No_.

"Where did this happen to you?"

He hesitated, his enormous slate eyes fixed on Hermione's.

She frowned, exchanging quick glances with Harry and Ginny. "C'mon, Draco," she said, shaking her head. "You know we're trying to help."

His little body slumped as he turned back toward the parchment squares.  _Entrance to Knockturn Alley_.

Hermione felt a strange little  _pluck_  in the center of her chest as she read back the response. She ignored that Draco was staring up at her, again.

More so, she ignored that she could clearly hear Ginny and Harry's hushed conversation.

The redhead had tugged at Harry's sleeve with thumb and forefinger before leaning over to whisper in his ear. "Is it me, or does it seem maybe he was . . . ashamed to tell her that?"

He shook his head and whispered back, "Stop it. You're actually going to make  _me_  feel bad for Draco Malfoy."

Biting her lip, Hermione forced herself to ask, "What were you doing there, Draco?"

_Was curious_.

"What, exactly, happened there?" She decided it best to power along.

_Attacked. Small group_.

Hermione nodded, pausing as a yawn wracked her. Blinking hard, she shook her head.

"Maybe we should pick this up again, tomorrow?" Ginny suggested.

Hermione lifted her gaze to meet the other girl's. "You know what, that sounds good. I think we're all—"

"Wait." Harry's voice cut in, drawing their attention to him. He pointed toward the desktop with his chin. "He's trying to say something."

Hermione looked to Draco, who wobbled his furry head at her. "Sorry, Draco. Start again?"

The ferret gave an impatient snuffle—to which Hermione responded by rolling her eyes, causing Harry and Ginny to laugh due to how much it seemed  _human_ -Draco might as well be sitting there—but did as she asked.

_One is here_.

"Um . . ." Ginny said, as Harry started, "Does he mean—"

"One of the people who did this to you is  _here_? At Hogwarts?" Hermione's heart thumped against her rib cage.

_Yes_.

Her brow furrowed. "You said you don't know who did this."

_I don't_.

"So you  _saw_  them?" Harry asked, nodding. It felt strange that he was excited to solve the puzzle Draco's situation presented, but he decided to—as with so many things that happened at Hogwarts—simply go with the flow.

_Yes_.

Again, Hermione's heart thumped. "My God. Did they see  _you_?"

_No_. He tacked on, before she could bother to ask how he was certain of that,  _Hid in your shirt_.

She slumped back in her chair. "So that's what that business was all about yesterday morning! Thank  _God_. I thought you were just using the skittish-ferret act to be a pervert."

Harry shrugged, glancing away from the table. "To be fair, he could  _still_  be a pervert."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at her best friend. At the same moment, Draco snapped his head around to lock gazes with Harry as he let out a hiss.

All three humans in the room went wide-eyed.

Not taking her attention away from Draco, Ginny muttered through barely parted lips, "I think you made him angry."

"I _think_ , on that note, we  _had_  better call it a night," Hermione said, hoping to ease the sudden spike in tension between the two males—species not withstanding—as she began sweeping the parchment squares into her bag. "I'll just turn over the dictation from this session to Professor McGonagall when we see her tomorrow. We can sort through who this person might be,  _then_."

She scooped up Draco and set him on her shoulder. Without a second thought, she lifted her hair, allowing him to settle against the back of her neck.

Lifting her gaze to Ginny and Harry as she righted her bag, she noted their quizzical expressions. "What?"

"Getting used to him, are you?" Harry asked, as they both stood and followed Hermione to the door.

She shrugged, refusing—still—to think much on it. After all, it . . . wasn't as though she and Draco would be friends, or anything, when this was finished and he was human, again. That was  _ridiculous_. "It's the easiest way to hide him  _while_ keeping complete track of him."

Harry looked to Ginny. The ginger-haired girl only shook her head, uncertain what to make of anything. Hermione was too naturally compassionate for moments like this to really allow them any true context on what she might feel.

* * *

As Hermione settled her head on her pillow—she'd kept a steady eye on Draco as she'd changed into her nightclothes to ensure he didn't look, this time—he stared at her. From where he was curled into a ball, beside her pillow. His little, ferrety gaze narrowed.

Hermione looked about the room in the dark. Her dorm-mates all appeared to be asleep, already.

She sighed heavily, her frame sagging into the mattress. "You're kidding! You can't possibly need to hide from  _anything_  here, you little trickster," she said in a barely audible whisper.

Unfurling himself, he stretched across the pillow and tapped his nose to her cheek. He turned his head, regarding Crookshanks at the foot of the bed. Draco twitched his nose and hissed.

Hermione followed his gaze. Her faithful cat was eyeing the ferret . . . the same way he eyed his food dish while he waited for her to fill it with fresh tuna.

"Fine," she said, lifting her covers. "But, remember you've been warned;  _no_  under-the-shirt!"

Feeling proud of himself for yet _another_ argument won without the benefit of speech, Draco scooted beneath the covers before Granger could change her mind.


	12. Only A Nightmare

**Chapter Twelve**

Only a Nightmare

_Hermione sighed as she raked her fingers through Draco's hair. She was relatively certain she was dreaming, but—aside from the fact that Draco was human, and laying across the bed with his head pillowed on her breasts, rather than a ferret curled into a ball between them—it didn't really_ feel _like she was dreaming._

_Or at least she wasn't certain this felt different from when she was awake, yet sleepy-minded._

_"There's one thing I can't figure," he said, reaching blindly across her to lace his fingers with those of her free hand._

_She bit her lip, afraid to speak. If she spoke, it might bring this crashing down around her. But then, it_ was  _only a dream, it would end eventually, anyway. Hermione reasoned she was probably imagining this scenario because of how badly she wished he was human so that he might tell her more about how this happened to him._

_When she remained silent, he shifted his head against her, turning his face to meet her gaze._

_Sighing again, she forced herself, bracing in case her own voice woke her. "What's that?"_

_"Why are you trying so hard to help me?"_

_She shrugged. "I suppose because no one should be locked into near-silence and helplessness, like you have?"_

_His dark brows drew upward, disappearing beneath the mussed fringe of his pale hair. "Not even someone you hate?"_

_"I don't hate you, Draco," she answered without thinking, a frown gracing her lips._

_Again, he shifted, this time moving onto his side and balancing his weight on his elbow to look down at her. "Then what_ do _you feel?"_

_Hermione's breath caught in her throat as she stared into those grey eyes she remembered—remembered from before they became all beady and ferrety. "I . . . ." She cleared her throat and tried again. Why was she having trouble now that she was face-to-face with him as a human? "I suppose I don't know."_

_He shrugged. "Well, then I suggest your desires aren't as selfless as you want to think."_

_"M-my desires?" she asked, sputtering in disbelief. But then, this was a dream of her once-enemy in her bed, having just used her boobs as a headrest. "I don't_ have _any desires in this mess. What are you talking about?"_

_A smirk curved one corner of Draco's mouth upward and he shook his head. "Stop that, I'm not being perverse. What I_ mean  _is that you want to break the charm so that I'm human again, because it's what's right, sure._ But  _if you have the_ actual  _me—the one who can walk on two legs and talk back, and is in a position to appreciate that he's watched you undress—" Here, he ignored the sudden withering glare she gave him. "In front of you, able to so easily remind you of_  all _the things you never quite liked about me, then you never have to analyze what you've been feeling since coming back to Hogwarts."_

_Her expression soured. She didn't like his insightfulness. True, she was having this conversation with her subconscious, but still. "What I've been feeling?"_

_"When you wonder why you feel like you miss me."_

_Hermione shot up, shoving him away as she stood from the bed. "I don't have to listen to this from you."_

_Draco toppled off the bed and hit the floor. She resisted the urge to laugh, merely lifting her eyebrows as she watched him shift to sit up. "That was uncalled for. And if you're not going to listen to it from me, who_  are  _you going to have this conversation with?"_

_She forced a gulp down her throat. He was right. She_ should _hate him—after everything he'd put her through growing up, after literal torture at the hands of his family—she should have nothing but venom and bile for him._

_But having him small and helpless and in her care . . . Hermione thought perhaps it reminded her of moments she'd glimpsed. Moments she thought she'd imagined, when Draco Malfoy had been vulnerable, when he'd been scared . . . . When he'd been human—not in the physical sense, but that he actually had a heart. A complicated one, capable of more than she and her friends had the luxury to give him credit for._

_She didn't want to be near him right now—seeing his human face in front of her, pulling himself up onto_ her  _bed, while she struggled with such thoughts._

_Spinning on a heel, she darted to the door._

_"Granger," Draco shouted, grey eyes shooting wide. "Wait! You don't want to go—"_

_Shaking her head, she threw open the door and stepped through._

_The colorless scene she stepped into wasn't the corridor of the girl's dormitory. Forcing a gulp, she looked about. Her heart hammered in her chest as she found herself at the mouth of Knockturn Alley._

_Glancing ahead, she saw the gnarled and twisted buildings. Warped voices called out from the windows and dark, twisted hands protruded from the walls, grasping at air._

_Swallowing hard, once more, she shook her head, backpedaling from the horrible sight of ravenous, distorted edifices._

_Bumping against someone, she let out a sigh. Relief swept through her—Draco must've followed her from the room, after all. She turned on a heel and looked up._

_"Draco, thank Go . . . ." Her words died on her lips as she stared up at the cloaked figure. The shadows cast by his hood obscured the man's face._

_Tears pricked in the corners of her eyes and ice curled in the pit of her stomach. This was wrong, this was_ all  _wrong. She sidestepped to push past the cloaked stranger, but shapes rose behind him, forming into more figures like him._

_She took a backward step and they moved, as one, to follow._

_Grasping for her wand, she found herself defenseless and did the first thing she could think of_ _—s_ _he turned and ran down Knockturn Alley._

_The buildings reached for her, the tips of their craggy fingers scraping and bruising her skin as she went. The voices grew louder, the sound of them calling her name like wind howling during a storm._

_Hermione clamped her hands over her ears and kept running. She risked a backward glance. They were so close . . ._ so  _close, and they'd all drawn their wands._

_As she face forward again, she lost her balance. Stone hands broke her fall, but refused to release her. She struggled against them, hearing the footfalls drawing ever closer behind her._

_Hermione pulled at her arms so hard, she thought she might break her bones against the twisted, unforgiving fingers. Glancing back frantically, she saw the leader raise his wand to strike and—_

* * *

Hermione bolted upright, gasping for air. She could feel the cold sweat matting her hair against her forehead and the sides of her face as she glanced about her darkened dorm room.

There was a tap on her hand and she snapped her gaze down to the bed. Her little, pale ferret sat, staring up at her with those slate eyes—wider than usual. She wondered if he was worried by her panic, or if she'd simply startled him awake.

Forcing an airy laugh at herself and shaking her head, she scooped up Draco and hugged him to her. "It was only a nightmare," she whispered, uncertain if she was explaining to him, or reassuring herself.

Draco snuggled against her, stretching in her hands to touch his little nose to her cheek.

Again she laughed, and again she shook her head. "Sorry I woke you," she said, her voice barely audible.

He closed his eyes and let out a little, snuffling breath. There was no way to tell her he wished he could actually do something to soothe her. Ferret-snuggles would simply have to do, he supposed.


	13. Little Things Underneath

**Chapter Thirteen**

Little Things Underneath

Hermione spent most of the following day in a fog. When she had the presence of mind to think on it, she wagered a guess that her nightmare had left her out of sorts. Simplest explanation, really. Logical, clean, done.

But then it nagged at her. What if the nightmare portion of her dream wasn't causing her issues in focusing? What if it was the first half? The half in which she imagined herself lounging in her bed with Draco Malfoy?

Her heart would thump especially hard at that, and she would shake her head, forcing the thoughts away. She'd focus on her studies, once more . . . . And then, her mind would drift and start the bloody irritating cycle all over again.

She was just being silly, after all—hadn't she thought, only  _yesterday_ , that there would be no way, even after this mess, that they'd ever be friends, or even close, in any fashion? A sneaky little voice would wriggle its way into her mind right then and point out that they didn't  _need_ to be friends,  _or_ close, for him to eventually find his way into her bed.

The set of her shoulders would tense at that, and she'd feel Draco—silly, pale-furred ferret, Draco—nudge the back of her neck, beneath her hair.

Sighing, she reached up her hand to stroke his coat soothingly. With her other hand, she tapped her quill against the scroll before her lightly, imagining it as the ticking of a clock, deliberately distracting herself from her thoughts. She was waiting on pins and needles for classes to end so she could hurry to Professor McGonagall's office for the first of Draco's examinations.

Honestly, how had her feelings become so complicated so fast?

* * *

Draco didn't like Granger's anxiety. The morning had started typically, enough—she'd pulled up the blanket and ordered him off her, but allowed him to hide there while she disappeared from the room to bathe and dress. Then, informing him that she refused to let him become  _stinky_ , she took him to the wash room to gently scrub his coat with some girly-scented soap in the sink.

She'd chatted away as she ran her fingers along his sudsy fur. It was a bit difficult for him to pay attention to her actual words with her fingertips circling over him so pleasantly—and, again it crossed his mind how lucky she was that he wasn't human, right now.

But then she said something about feeling like she was sympathizing with his situation. Granger told him the specifics of her nightmare—mysterious figures chasing her down Knockturn Alley.

At that part, he snapped his head up to meet her gaze.

Reading his reaction, she frowned. "Sorry, was that what actually happened?"

He gave a side-to-side wobble of his head, splashing against the water.

She took that as a  _no_.

Her shoulders drooped a little and she made an obvious attempt to laugh off the terrible dream. "Honestly," she'd said with a forced, airy laugh, "here I am, the second morning in a row,  _bathing_  Draco Malfoy. Who'd  _ever_  have thought something like that could . . . ?"

He watched as her expression dimmed, and her bottom lip pulled into an adorable, thoughtful pout. Even without her sudden change in demeanor, he would've known she was upset now . . . . No, that wasn't quite the proper word. Troubled, yes, that fit better. She was troubled, and it made her anxious, and that caused her pretty scent to shift a bit. Anxiety, he was coming to understand, had a sour tinge to it, and he hated it.

He knew he hated that it was coming from  _her_ , more than anything else. But, as with her nightmare last night, there was nothing he could do to comfort her.

And even if he could, how likely was it that she'd accept a comforting gesture from  _him_ , of all people?

Draco refused to think on that, any further. Her hands had stilled in the water, and he ducked his head, nudging her palm with his nose.

Giving a little start, she looked down at him. "Oh, right," she said with another of those airy laughs as she shook her head. "Sorry."

Yet, she didn't go back to her chatting as she drained the water and dried him in the hand towel. Nor did she speak a word as she made her way to the Great Hall for breakfast before classes.

When he realized he was fretting over how quiet she was, he told himself it was only because  _he_ had no voice, so hearing her chatter soothed his own anxieties. Perhaps her voice was pleasant to listen to . . . maybe. But that  _couldn't_  have anything to do with it.

* * *

As she sat in class, her frame tensing, again, he pressed his nose to the back of her neck. She petted him in what he thought was becoming an automatic response on her part—not that he was about to complain.

He heard the tapping of her quill from the desk and found himself counting along with it. Somewhere along the way, she lost the rhythm and the tapping became random and unordered.

Draco's little mouth puckered in a frown. Neither of those words fit Granger, and it bothered him that she was troubling over something, again.

But then, before he could yell at himself,  _again_ , for what seemed like having feelings, class was dismissed. Granger was packing away her things, and her scent—which had been so heavy with her anxiety—lightened, coming closer to that sugary, flowery pleasantness he dreaded to think he was becoming attached to.

She stood, her free hand securely around him as he clung to her neck while she pulled her bag over her shoulder. Granger was quiet, still, as she hurried along to McGonagall's office, but this time it was a different sort of silence, one of breathy excitement and hopefulness. Like the anxiety, it changed her scent, but this  _particular_  alteration was for the better.

As she stepped into the spiraling lift that preceded the door to McGonagall's office, she gently extracted Draco from his hiding place. She held him up in front of her to meet his slate-eyed gaze.

"Can I tell you something?" she whispered, though that was silly, since it was hardly as though he could answer—but still, he tried, giving an up-and-down head-wobble.

A bitter smile curved her lips upward. "I know these examinations are the only way to help, but . . . . I think I'm a little scared for you."

_Me too_ ,  _Granger_ , Draco thought. He ignored that he felt his heart hammering at her admission, wondering if they might circle back to this comment later—when they would have their  _unavoidable_  chat once he was human, again.


	14. The Ferret-Kiss

**Chapter Fourteen**

The Ferret-Kiss

After Hermione had shared her transcript of the first conversation with Draco, the elder witch had decided it in the best interest of Draco's safety that she, personally, handle the examinations. If someone in the school was involved, who was to say they were alone? With no way to know who could be trusted, she restricted access to the information about Draco's  _disappearance_ to only those already aware of the circumstances.

They'd even gone so far as to cast a charm that darkened his fur a little so it no longer matched the silvery-platinum of his human hair.

By the end of the third night of Draco's tests, Hermione understood why Professor McGonagall thought his little, ferret body could only handle one per day. Even she was exhausted by now, and she'd only stood by and watched, her hand out, palm up, so that he could rest his furry cheek against the heel of her hand for comfort.

Odd how somewhere along the way, she'd become uncertain if it was for his comfort, or her own.

She couldn't help feeling sorry for him. At some point during the last night's test—which looked like any other magical scan, on the surface, a simple go-over with the Professor's wand as she read a particular examination method from one of the many scrolls scattered across her desk—he started whining. A horrible, panicked sound Hermione'd never heard before.

He'd scanned the room for her, his slate eyes frantic until he saw her making her way to him.

Every fiber of her being had screamed at her to snatch him out from beneath the professor's wand. If not for Professor McGonagall warning her that moving him then could cause him  _actual_ harm, Hermione would have done exactly that.

Instead, she'd given him her hand, just as she was doing now, because it was all she  _could_  do for him.

He had fallen asleep as she carried him back to her room. In the morning, she and Ginny had lagged behind in their morning preparations, so she could take out the board squares to ask what had happened.

Her heart rent when all he could come up with in explanation was,  _It hurt_.

Ginny couldn't help but notice the look that had settled in her friend's gaze at that moment. Like  _she_ was the one hurt. There was nothing to be done for it, though—even Harry and Ron openly admitted to feeling bad for Draco, by now.

This test didn't appear to hurt. No, what was excruciating about it was how long the examination was taking. Draco had even fallen asleep a few times, his face nuzzled against her hand.

When Professor McGonagall finally lowered her wand, Hermione was surprised she was still standing.

She was equally surprised that, despite her exhaustion, she'd noticed something new from the previous two nights. Toward the end of this scan, the elder witch had reached for her quill and began jotting things down on the corner of the open scroll.

As she delicately scooped the sleeping ferret off the desk and cradled him against her shoulder, she turned hopeful eyes on the salt-and-peppered haired woman. "Did you learn anything?"

The professor looked up from her notations, the expression on her face stern as always, but tempered by a touch of warmth, just now. "I believe I have, but I should caution you that it might be too soon to say. There will still be a few more examinations before I can tie everything together, I'm afraid."

"Nothing like yesterday's exam, though, right?" Hermione tightened her hold on Draco as she asked.

The professor frowned, noting the girl's protective demeanor. "I am sorry about that. It was more invasive than I'd expected. But no, nothing like yesterday's exam. I see Mr. Malfoy is already asleep. You should  _both_ get some rest, now. Good night, Miss Granger."

* * *

By the time Draco awoke, he was already settled on Granger's chest beneath her covers. He could tell by the rise and fall of her body beneath him, and the steady, gentle thudding of her heart, that she was already fast asleep.

Today's examination passed in a hazy blur. He was too tired to recall if he'd made any noises of discomfort throughout. Not that he'd actually been uncomfortable this time, but he couldn't say he hadn't recalled that last, awful, exam while he was dozing.

He saw the expression on Granger's face as she'd hurried to him yesterday. He hadn't meant to worry her.

Draco held in a huffing breath as he set his head down and let his eyes drift closed. He couldn't think right now on what it meant that he didn't want to see her look like that, again.

_Especially_  not because of him.

* * *

"Come in, Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall's voice filtered through her office door.

Squaring her shoulders, Hermione sighed. Tipping her head toward Draco as he perched beside her face, she whispered, "Don't worry. Just remember, we're getting close to an answer."

Draco gave that up-down head wobble that she always took to mean he was in agreement with her words.

With another sigh, she opened the door and stepped through.

Only to stop short at the sight of two familiar people in the seats facing Professor McGonagall's desk. Her jaw dropping, she met the elder witch's gaze, before looking to the other witch and wizard in the room, in turn.

"M—Mr. Malfoy, Mrs. Malfoy," she said with a nod, swallowing hard.

She'd done nothing wrong, in fact, she was the catalyst behind what aid Draco was receiving. Yet, still she couldn't help thinking they'd find a way to blame her.

Lucius opened his mouth to speak, but Narcissa—breaking from her typical severe posture—was out of her seat in a blink. She crossed the room, looking both hopeful and worried. The mingled expression made Hermione wonder just how often she, herself, had made that face over the course of this last week.

"Draco?" the Slytherin witch said, her voice wavering.

The ferret lifted his head toward his mother's voice. He wished he could say something. He really hadn't wanted his parents to see him like this.

Offering a wan smile, Hermione gently extracted Draco from her shoulder and held him out toward Narcissa. The pale-haired witch took the ferret, holding him up in front of her as she held his gaze.

"I . . . ." Narcissa swallowed hard, her eyes glistening. "I'm not certain what to say."

Hermione bit her lip as she watched the interaction—watched Draco stretch to touch the tip of his nose to his mother's. As he so often did with her.

Her heart ached a little as she realized that was more than a sign of understanding, as she'd assumed, but an affectionate gesture.

Even more so as she saw the tear trickle from the corner of Narcissa Malfoy's eye. As she saw, from the corner of her gaze, the way Lucius Malfoy simply looked on, immobile, as he forced a gulp down his throat.

She couldn't imagine what seeing their son like this must be like for them. But—strange considering the source, she knew—it only strengthened her resolve to find a way to break the charm on him.


	15. The Next-Best Thing

**Chapter Fifteen**

The Next-Best Thing

Hermione didn't know who was more surprised—her, or Mr. Malfoy, himself—as the former Dark wizard rose from his seat. The bewildered look on his face as he crossed the room to stand beside his wife was strangely hilarious, yet at the same time, somehow completely heart-wrenching.

The girl couldn't help wincing as she looked away from the bizarre and strained family reunion.

She watched from the corner of her eye as Lucius stroked a tentative finger over the ferret's head. Draco leaned into the touch, and she was almost certain she glimpsed a faint sheen in the man's grey eyes.

Hermione swallowed hard, pretending the question she was about to ask didn't bother her—she wasn't getting attached to Draco, that was ridiculous! She was simply . . . a bit protective over him due to his circumstances, after all,  _someone_  had to be.

"Are you going to take Draco home?"

Narcissa's perfectly angled jaw fell a little as carefully hugged the ferret. Turning her head to look at Hermione, she blinked hard as she said, "No."

Hermione and Draco—odd as it was, since he was a  _ferret_ , and all—exchanged a glance. "What?"

She looked to her husband, who nodded for her to go on, before she continued. "We no longer possess the . . . resources, or have access to the same connections, we once did." Narcissa lifted Draco, again, to meet his gaze. "The best option for breaking the charm is to keep him here, in Minerva's hands."

"We do not know who did this," Lucius said, his voice low as he shook his head. "That being said, there is no way to know if someone in the Ministry, or someone who has pull at St. Mungos, might have a hand in it."

Chestnut eyes shot wide. "You really think this might really go that high up?"

He set his jaw, but answered in a controlled tone, "The point, I believe, is that we cannot know who is responsible, or who might have an awareness of this." He cast a meaningful glance toward Professor McGonagall as she remained seated behind her desk. "What we were discussing is  _why_  this might have been done to him."

Understanding pounded through Hermione in an instant—sharp and quick, like a shock of electricity. "You think whoever did this did it to get to you?"

"We think," Narcissa said, licking her lips nervously, "there are people who blame us for both sides of the War. Those who think it is our fault Vol—Voldemort got as far as he did, and those who blame us for the Voldemort  _losing_  the War."

Hermione met the pale-haired witch's gaze. "Draco said someone here, in the school, was present when he was transfigured. He—he said he didn't recognize them, though."

The Malfoys shared a look. "What do you mean," Lucius asked, one brow arched, "Draco  _said_?"

"Oh." Hermione shrugged, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I figured out a communication method to use with him."

Narcissa's eyes brightened as Lucius nodded, the impressed look on his face making the resemblance to his son plainly obvious for a moment. "Of course, you did! You are the brightest in your year, after all, aren't you?"

Hermione pushed aside the almost-compliment and focused on the points which had been revealed. "Is it possible some of the children of those who believed in Voldemort's . . .  _cause_ could be responsible?"

Professor McGonagall finally spoke up from where she still sat at her desk. "You think the person he saw is a Slytherin student?"

She shrugged. "I think it's possible. Slytherin is the House which prizes tradition, above all else. Even with the inclusion of Muggle-born students this year, it is still the House with  _the_ densest population of pure-blood students. And . . . ." She gave a half-nod. "I think it's safe to assume some of them are from families  _still_  espousing the idea of blood purity."

"As I said." Narcissa nodded, a mirthless smile tugging at her lips. "Those who blame  _us_."

"Let's ask him," Hermione suggested with a forced cheerfulness, uncomfortable with how this interaction was making her feel sorry for Lucius and Narcissa.

The Malfoys stood by, observing, while Hermione set out the parchment squares on McGonagall's desk. Narcissa tried not to be saddened that rather than staying with her, Draco chose to cling to the girl's shoulder as she moved about her task.

Draco didn't want to recall that morning. He didn't want to think about that split-second when his heart beat so hard it seemed to shake his entire body, because it had made him remember that awful moment. But he also knew if he didn't cooperate, this might never end.

He gave his little head a shake as they asked the question again. He  _refused_  to remain a bloody ferret the rest of his life!

Hopping down from Granger's shoulder, he circled the pieces of parchment, tapping his nose to his answer.  _Yes._

"No one is going to admit to this, and we can't  _question_  the entire House," McGonagall said, shaking her head as her face pulled into a worried expression. "We must be careful how we go about this, or we risk exposing Draco to further potential danger."

Hermione automatically reached a hand toward Draco, offering him her palm. He pressed his tiny, furry cheek against her hand as she answered, "I think there's someone who might be willing to help with that. Nothing invasive, nothing that might hurt more than it helps. But maybe listen around, try to catch someone saying anything suspicious."

The Malfoys and Professor McGonagall looked to her expectantly as Hermione met Draco's gaze. He gave an up-down head wobble, approving of what he knew she was thinking. Not that he was terribly thrilled, but there weren't many options. Aside from him openly trying to find the person, of course, but he wasn't fond of that idea, as he had no idea what they might do to him to keep from getting caught.

No, no. Granger's horrible notion was the best idea, under the circumstances.

* * *

A knock sounded at the office door. Hermione mindlessly stroked Draco's sleek fur as she snapped her gaze toward the noise.

"Come in," Professor McGonagall said.

The door opened, and Pansy stepped in. Her eyebrows shot up as her gaze landed on the room's other occupants, in turn.

Dark eyes wide, the girl asked in a small voice, "Wh—what's this about, then?"


	16. An Unlikely Bond

**Chapter Sixteen**

An Unlikely Bond

The two girls sat in awkward silence on an empty staircase not far from Professor McGonagall's office. Draco was curled up in Hermione's lap, his beady, slate eyes fixed on Pansy as the dark-haired witch stared at him with open bewilderment.

Every now and again, he snuffled—the adorably odd sound strangely loud against the quiet—and Hermione wasn't certain if he was doing it to fill the mind-numbing void, or if he might be catching a cold.

Oh, where was Hagrid, already? She could only imagine that if he was still away, it must mean he wasn't having an easy time of it getting Grawp settled. And here she was worrying about ferret-sneezes.

Maybe if she knew how to tell he was sick—there weren't likely to be many volumes in the school library on ferret care. Could it be like a cat or dog? Perhaps his nose being wet or dry, like she often checked for when Crookshanks was grumpier than usual?

But then if that was no true indicator for Draco, she'd end up worrying herself for nothing and—

"They didn't say, but . . . ." Pansy finally tore her gaze from Draco's and looked off, swallowing hard before she could continue. "But it was your idea, wasn't it? To tell me about this."

Draco's head fell to one side as he continued to stare up at his ex-girlfriend.  _Sure, give_  me  _no credit, thanks very much!_

Hermione, snapped out of her ferret-snuffle-induced concerns, shook her head as she mindlessly stroked a gentle hand across Draco's fur. "Um . . . ." She shook her head as she gave a small, airy laugh. "No, well, yes, but technically, it was Draco's idea as much as it was mine."

Draco turned his head beneath her petting fingers to look up at her. She certainly was fond of giving credit where it was due.  _Why_  did he think that endearing?

_Dammit, Granger_ , he thought, his tiny mouth pulling into a pucker.  _I_  really  _dislike how much I'm starting to like you._

"I thought you're in a position to help, he thought you're one of the few people he trusts, so asking your aid seemed pretty natural."

Pansy's brows drew together as she met Hermione's gaze. "He  _trusts_  me?"

A watery smile played at Hermione's lips as she recalled how upset the Slytherin girl had seemed a few days ago, when she'd first asked if they'd heard from Draco. "Of course. You're friends, aren't you?"

Draco winced, waiting for Pansy to screech at him. She was in a fog about what they were to each other, and he knew that. Worse, he'd been perfectly happy to leave her that way. He was still surprised that she—grudgingly, though it was—had agreed to help him.

To his further surprise, Pansy's shoulders drooped as she nodded, her gaze drifting to the floor. "We are. It's just . . . things got really weird between us after the War. I guess I . . . ." She shook her head as she said, "I was just worried, because I didn't know where I was with him, you know?"

Hermione's eyebrows shot up as she nodded. "Actually, yes, I know  _exactly_ what you mean."

"You mean you and Weasleb—" Pansy winced as she cut herself off, rolling her eyes. She wasn't normally one for common courtesy, but then she was fully aware that Granger could have decided against letting her in on what was happening with Draco. "Sorry, so used to hearing Draco call him that. You and Weasley?"

Draco held in a sigh. Honestly, he would have been interested to see Granger's reaction to hearing someone other than  _him_  calling the ginger oaf that. He knew he probably would have laughed himself sick if she'd glossed over the unfriendly nickname.

Nodding, Hermione couldn't help a half-grin. "Yeah. We um . . . we had this  _moment_ , and he thought it meant we were together. I spent the entire summer in dread that he would never forgive me for telling him we weren't."

"Merlin's beard, boys are a right pain in the arse, aren't they?" Pansy asked with a sigh.

Hermione's shoulders sloped downward as she laughed, nodding once more.

Another moment of silence fell, albeit one much more comfortable than the first. Pansy reached out a tentative hand, her expression uncertain as she delicately scratched a fingernail between Draco's ears, while Hermione continued her near-automatic stroking of his fur.

Draco's eyes drifted closed and he settled his head on Granger's thigh. For his part, he was trying—desperately—to keep his mind from wandering over what this scenario would be like, were he in his human body.

"Look," Pansy said, chewing her lip thoughtfully before she continued, "I know this doesn't make us friends, or anything—"

Hermione's laugh cut her off, though even hearing the words made her wonder if that was possible, too. "God, no. Of course not. Could you imagine?"

A small smile curved Pansy's lips as she went on. "I know, right? But, um, what I said the other day? About Draco coming back to school to make amends? I probably made it obvious, but it was you and Potter he was talking about."

Draco lifted his head to issue a sleepy hiss at the dark-haired girl. But the laziness of the gesture made it  _far_  from intimidating.

"Hush, you," Pansy said, tapping a fingertip to his nose. "'S what you get for brushing me off all summer."

Hermione's eyebrows drew upward. "Harry and me?"

Pansy nodded. "Something about how he should have done more, but . . . ." She shrugged. "That's all he'd say about it."

The Gryffindor witch's face seemed to crumble as she looked down at the fragile creature curled against her.

"I should go. We really can't risk being seen talking if the people who did this realize you have Draco with you."

"Of—of course," Hermione said, her tone a bit lifeless, suddenly.

Nodding again, Pansy withdrew her hand and got to her feet. "Seems like you two are going to have a  _lot_  to discuss when this mess is all sorted."

Hermione looked up to respond—she'd already thought as much herself, several times, hadn't she—but Pansy was already hurrying down the corridor.

"She's right," she said, dropping her gaze to meet Draco's slate eyes. "We're going to have a  _very_  long chat when this is all over, aren't we?"

Draco stretched out, then. He used his hand-like front paws to climb up, along her shirt, and touched his nose to hers.

She shook her head, giggling softly. She couldn't help but ask, "You plan on doing  _that_  a lot when you're human again, do you?"

Once more Draco touched her nose with his, before he burrowed his furry little face against the side of her neck.

Hermione felt her heart rattle in her chest as she collected Draco and put him on her shoulder so she could stand. She  _refused_ to think about how much she was starting to believe she might like that idea.

Yet, somehow, she ended up thinking about it, anyway. Right up until she fell asleep later that night.


	17. Comforts Fall Short

**Chapter Seventeen**

Comforts Fall Short

By the end of the following week, Pansy hadn't been able to turn up any new clues, Professor McGonagall had managed to compile a few more snippets of necessary information from the continued examinations, but was still a few key steps away from a solution, and Hagrid had finally returned to Hogwarts. Much to Hermione's relief, he was able to confirm that Draco was not, in fact, coming down with a cold. She didn't have an easy time of it trying to keep Draco from nipping at the groundskeeper's fingers, though.

Sunday evening rolled around and Harry sat, watching Hermione speak with Draco—via her parchment letters—in a secluded spot, tucked away within the pumpkin patch outside Hagrid's house. They were almost completely hidden from view, yet Harry couldn't help constantly glancing back toward the castle to ensure no one was coming near.

Ginny offered a wan smile as she nudged his shoulder. They leaned together against the low, stone wall that half-ringed the patch. "Hey. It's okay. Honest. We know they're here, and  _we_ can barely pick them out."

Harry's green eyes rolled behind his glasses as he shook his head. He didn't want to have to say what was going through his head; he was still reluctant to admit he felt a twinge of sympathy for Draco's predicament.

But it wasn't  _only_  Draco's situation for which he felt awful.

"It's not that," he said in a whisper, ducking his head toward Ginny's as he spoke. "I'm worried. About Hermione. I mean, look at them."

A frown curved her lips downward as she turned her gaze toward the nearly-hidden girl. They could see Hermione's expression from where they stood, though the ferret, scurrying from letter to letter to carry on their conversation, was blocked entirely from view.

The brown-haired witch was nodding and smiling, speaking words Ginny and Harry couldn't quite make out from their position.

Ginny's shoulders drooped. Yes, she knew exactly what Harry was getting at.

"She's so certain she's going to fix this, but what if she doesn't? What if—?"

"I know. What if he stays that way?"

Neither could speak again for a moment. Not when they were both wondering what Hermione was supposed to do with her feelings if Draco never became human, again.

Ginny turned, leaning into Harry and dropping her head against his chest.

"Though," he said, trying for a light tone and failing just a little, "Hermione and Professor McGonagall are on the case. I'm pretty sure our concerns are pointless."

"You might be right."

He crooked a finger under her chin and lifted her face. Smiling, he lowered his mouth toward hers.

Just as she stretched to meet his lips, a commotion coming their way caught their attention. Turning their heads in unison toward the sound of rushing footfalls, they saw Ron and . . . Pansy? Yes, that was definitely a hurrying Pansy Parkinson at Ron's heels.

Ginny noted movement from the corner of her eye and looked to see Hermione gather Draco into her arms and stand, facing the running, mismatched pair, as well.

Hermione made her way from the patch, stepping directly into the Slytherin witch's path. "What is it? What's happened?"

Pansy wheeled to a stop bare centimeters from colliding with the other girl. She tipped her head back a moment to catch her breath before she answered, words halting. "I heard something. Not—not sure who said it, I didn't get a look at them, and I didn't recognize the voices, but it was  _definitely_  about Draco!"

Instinctively hugging the ferret to her chest, Hermione forced a gulp down her throat. "What . . . what did they say?" She ignored that fear was already causing her throat to tighten and the tip of her nose to sting.

"They said . . . ." She paused, glancing around to ensure no one was about.

Impatient, Ron—whom she'd clearly filled in when he was stubborn about sharing with her where the little group had disappeared to—jumped in. "She heard someone talking about knowing  _the ferret_ was somewhere on the grounds. Seems everyone heard about  _some girl_  having one as a familiar from the spectacle you two made the first night back."

Hermione and Draco exchanged a glance. The worry in her gaze tore at her friends' hearts. "Are they actually  _looking_  for him?"

Pansy shrugged, but then frowned and elbowed Ron out of her way.

Ron winced, rubbing a hand over his side. He backpedaled an extra step, enough to glare at the back of Pansy's head while she continued the conversation with Hermione.

"Look, I'm really not sure, but I _think_  so." She shrugged, again, and glanced away, clearly uncomfortable with the uncertainty of her intel. "It sounded like they wanted to know who had him, but . . .  _why_  wasn't mentioned."

"Why didn't you at least try to get a look at them?" Ron asked, his voice cold—Hermione almost thought for a second he was angry at her lack of effort, but then she realized he was probably just miffed about that elbow-jab.

"I was outnumbered, wasn't I?" Pansy snapped, tossing him a lethal glance over her shoulder. "And I don't know who they were, what if they had no compunction about hurting me to keep me quiet? Or transfigured me, too?"

"Yes, that  _would_  be a crime," Ron muttered, rolling his eyes.

Pansy started to turn toward him, but Hermione's hand circling her wrist stopped her.

"Pansy, please, ignore him. Ron can be . . . difficult."

Ron narrowed his eyes at Hermione's attempt to placate the Slytherin girl, but kept quiet.

Pansy faced Hermione, again, her head shaking. "Anyway, I'm pretty sure I'll hear those voices again. I'll try to catch a look next time I do. I ran over here, 'cause I thought you should know. You've been pretty good at hiding Draco so far, but you might want to be  _extra_  cautious until this is all sorted."

Hermione nodded, lifting Draco to settle him in his usual hiding place beneath her hair. He curled securely around the back of her neck, his nose pressed to her skin just above her collar for reassurance.

* * *

Pansy broke from the group as they trooped back toward the castle for dinner, before anyone from inside might see her with them.

The three watched Hermione throughout the meal. She sneaked a few bits of food into her napkin, to give to Draco in the safety of her dorm room, later—she refused to have him dip his head out of hiding to take the bits from her hand, as he usually did.

A strange, keening scratch echoed through the Great Hall, over the din of students and teachers deep in conversation. All voices silenced as everyone looked about for the source of the odd sound. It came again, seeming to echo off the stone walls, and Hermione's spine stiffened at the feel of Draco, trembling a bit as he curled more tightly against her neck.

She wanted to raise a hand to him to comfort him, but she didn't dare give away that he was there to anyone who might be watching for such a gesture.

Her heart slammed against her ribcage as the Great Hall was plunged into pitch-darkness. Unable to help herself, she lifted a hand now, tucking her fingers beneath her hair to stroke his fur soothingly.

Drawing her wand with her other hand and gripping it tightly, she whispered only loud enough for Draco to hear, "Don't worry, I won't let anyone get you."

Draco pressed his cheek against her hand, liking the sound of her words. He just wasn't certain—given that they had no idea, still, who was behind this—if she  _could_ stop them from getting to him, if they were so determined.

Wands ignited all across the Great Hall, illuminating the large room in slow, flickering patches. Hermione wasn't sure if it was a mistake to keep her hand on Draco as the shifting light washed over them, but she couldn't bring herself to let him go, either.


	18. A Bit of Light

**Chapter Eighteen**

A Bit of Light

The floating candles throughout the Great Hall flickered back several strained heartbeats after they'd seemed to have snuffed themselves out. Just moments before the silent panic winding along the tables and through the crowd of students and teachers could get truly out of control.

As mouths opened to scream, and bodies tensed to rise from their seats, light exploded through the vast chamber. Everyone to shielded their eyes, wincing as they extinguished their wand's illumination.

The stunned quiet continued as their vision adjusted. Hands fell away from faces and confused, frightened gazes darted about. Ginny reached over, giving Hermione's hand a comforting squeeze under the table.

Hermione exchanged a glance with her friend, before she turned her head, looking for Professor McGonagall. She shifted her neck a bit as she did so, comforted by the weight of Draco, still curled against her collar.

She'd been terrified that someone had known, after all—that they would sneak by, through that sudden wash of darkness, and snatch him away from her.

To her relief, the elder witch was already looking toward her. Hermione nodded toward the wide double-doors, her expression questioning. Should she leave now?

But Professor McGonagall shook her head, the look on her face a mix of caution and irritation. Caution, Hermione knew, against her leaving so fast, in case someone was awaiting a reaction to the incident. Irritation over the incident, itself.

Swallowing hard, Hermione managed a subtle nod of acknowledgement, but she struggled to remain still. The iron-haired woman stood and rounded the teachers' dinner table as she made her way to the podium.

Clearing her throat, she started in a stern voice that needed no raise in volume, nor any magical means of amplification to be heard by  _every_  student present. "I will say this only  _once_. Whoever is responsible for the prank which just occurred has until end of classes tomorrow to step forward."

A little of the tension in Hermione's frame drained out at that. McGonagall was upholding the charade; that was good. They had no idea, still, what actions or words might show their hand, and that uncertainty was what the girl dreaded most.

"Should you step forward on your own, you will only receive detention. However . . . ." She spared a moment, her expression severe as she flicked her gaze about the tables before her. "Should I be forced to find out who is responsible, myself, the consequences will make those responsible  _wish_  for detention."

The rest of Sunday evening's dinner passed without incident. Hermione only hoped it didn't appear suspicious the way Harry, Ron and Ginny clustered protectively around her as they made their way to Gryffindor tower at the end of the meal.

* * *

Buried beneath Granger's covers, and once more listening to her heartbeat, Draco found no comfort. That sound which had torn through the Great Hall just before it went dark had rattled into his very bones, and he'd been unable to truly settle down, since.

He jumped at every noise—each creak and groan of the old castle walls around them seemed to make his furry little body hunch.

Shaking his head, he determinedly curled into a ball over the calm pounding of her heart in her chest and forced his eyes shut. He burrowed his face against her nightshirt, twisting his neck to press one ear to her chest, and cover the other with one of his front paws.

Then, in a position which could  _only_  be comfortable for a ferret, he managed to relax enough to drift off.

Of course, he admitted reluctantly, the knowledge that he was snuggling with Granger probably helped a great deal.

* * *

"I don't suppose I'm surprised," Hermione said as she set Draco upon the table for another examination after classes the next day. "No one's going to come forward over a prank if they're hiding something worse. They couldn't risk being found out by drawing attention to themselves."

The elder witch gave a sideways nod as she opened the scrolls before her—the first was yet another examination method, the second the one which contained her notes from the previous tries. Plucking her wand from the depths of her robes, she fastened her gaze to the first scroll as she began scanning Draco.

"What we have to remember, Miss Granger, is that right now, we are viewing events through a skewed lens."

Draco looked from one witch to the other as he tried to understand her meaning.

Hermione's brow furrowed for the briefest second before she nodded. "Because of what's going on with Draco, I'm going to view everything that happens as connected to this, somehow, when it could be totally unrelated."

McGonagall met the girl's gaze over the rims of her spectacles as she nodded.

_Damn,_ Draco's little, ferret mouth drooped at the corners as he tried not to shift about too much—it wasn't easy, this scan tickled. But then, she had always been the  _only_ one who could best him at grades.

Minutes ticked by as Professor McGonagall turned her wand this way and that, jotting down notes with her free hand.

In a sudden movement that made both the younger witch, and the boy-turned-ferret jump, the woman shot up to stand pin-straight.

"Professor, what is it?" Hermione asked as McGonagall hurriedly scribbled more things down and tore a bit of parchment from the scroll.

"I have it! It is not a typical charm-break. We need a potion; that is why we could not find the answer, Miss Granger. We were looking at the problem incorrectly!"

Chestnut eyes shooting wide as she took the torn piece, Hermione nodded. "Of course we were! No one would think to break a  _charm_  with a potion, that's  _completely_  unorthodox."

"Exactly. Now go to Professor Slughorn and have him fill that list. Should he ask, beyond that I am the one making the request, tell him it is a special project  _I_  have you working on, and you cannot say anymore! I will stay with Mr. Malfoy."

"Yes, Professor." Hermione scooped the ferret up, bringing him to her face so their gazes met. "You hear that? You'll be human again, very soon!"

Draco stretched touching the tip of his nose to hers.

Biting her lip, she held in a watery grin as she handed him to the elder witch and dashed to the door.

In the silence that followed Granger's exit, Draco thought over the odd little bang in his chest. As she'd lifted him, as she'd met his gaze and told him this nightmare was almost over, her eyes had smiled. And there'd been tears in them. Could it really be possible she was so happy about him being human again that she could cry?

It was jarring in the most delightful way possible to think so.

Professor McGonagall let out a sigh from between pursed lips and sat, still holding the ferret protectively.

Draco lifted his head to peer up at her. She'd always given him a hard time, but then he supposed he didn't make an easy go of things for  _her_ , either. Despite everything, though, she'd really come through for him.

Perhaps he should make a gesture to show he appreciated the fuss.

She arched a brow, dropping her gaze to see the ferret stretching toward her face. "Do not even think it, Mr. Malfoy."

He slumped, hanging his head.  _Honestly, can't even give an old woman a friendly peck on the cheek these days_.


	19. A Whole New Mess

**Chapter Nineteen**

A Whole New Mess

By the time Hermione returned with the armload of potion ingredients, she wrestled open the door to find that both occupants of the room had dozed off. Professor McGonagall had an elbow on the armrest of her chair, her fist propped beneath her chin. Draco was snoring lightly in her lap, her free hand loosely curled around him.

Hermione knew she hadn't been gone that long, but then it had been a long and exhausting couple of weeks for everyone involved.

She bit her lip to hold in a giggle at what a sweet picture they made.  _What I wouldn't give for a camera, right now!_  Stepping lightly across the office, she set down the bottles with as much ease as she could manage.

Circling back around the chair, she extracted the sleeping ferret from Professor McGonagall with slow, delicate movements. Cradling him to her with one arm, she reached the other to place a gentle hand upon the elder witch's shoulder.

"Professor," she said in a soft voice.

The woman made a sleepy, throat-clearing sound, but didn't wake.

Draco blinked his beady, slate eyes open, startled—pleasantly so, but startled, nonetheless—to unexpectedly find Granger's sugar-flower scent pressed to his face. He wanted to simply snuggle against her and go back to sleep, but an odd little noise behind him drew his attention.

He stirred just a bit, turning his head to see the sleeping elder witch.

Hermione couldn't help another giggle at the snuffling sound Draco emitted. She didn't know if other ferrets laughed, but this one certainly did.

She tried again, putting the tiniest hint of force into the hand on the woman's shoulder and raising her voice a little. "Professor!"

Like a shot, McGonagall was on her feet, her wand drawn.

Blinking hard, she got her bearings as her office swam into focus around her. Miss Granger stood before her, her body turned to one side to shield Draco as she held her own wand in defense with her free hand.

"Professor?" Hermione repeated, her brows drawn up in question. Realizing she'd startled the old woman, and that this likely was not a disguised witch or wizard who'd replaced a magically snatched-away Professor McGonagall, Hermione lowered her wand.

Swallowing hard, McGonagall nodded and lowered her own. "You have my apologies, Miss Granger. I am afraid I have been a bit . . . jumpy since the War."

"I think a lot of people have that problem." Hermione shrugged as she put away her wand and pointed her chin toward the collection of vials and bottles. "Well, shall we get started?"

* * *

Two hours later, the witches were still adding ingredients to the bubbling mix in the cauldron. The process was so very painstaking. It actually made Hermione wish Professor Snape was still alive. He'd have this potion whipped up without a single error the first time at it.

Bits and drops and thimblefuls and granules, all which needed to be added at  _precise_  moments, and introduced to the concoction very slowly when it was time for them.

Draco sat by on the seat of one of the office's armchairs. Well, no, he alternated between sitting, fidgeting, and pacing restlessly. He thought a time or two about taking a nap, but he was far too excited about the idea that he would soon be human, again.

Hermione's eyebrows scrunched together as she read over the professor's notes, once more. "Wait, wait . . . . I'm unclear on this. Is he supposed to drink it, or bathe in it?"

The elder witch pursed her lips for a quiet moment, adjusting her spectacles on the bridge of her nose as she peered into the cauldron. "Both," she finally said, in a way that made Hermione think she was holding in a laugh.

Hermione turned her head to look at Draco, a stricken look on her face. He made that snuffling noise in response.

By the time they were finished, Hermione's hair had puffed out like a golden-brown dandelion, haloing her head. She was trying—and failing—to smooth the wayward locks back into some semblance of order as Professor McGonagall drew a tiny portion of the cauldron's contents into a dropper, and then ladled the rest into a shallow bowl.

The bridge of Hermione's nose crinkled as she retrieved Draco from the chair and brought him to the worktable. "At least it smells better than it looks." The potion had a rich, earthy scent to it, like pine trees, almost, but not quite . . . . What it looked like was swirled mix of lumpy pea soup, and even lumpier brown gravy.

"Probably not going to  _taste_  lovely, though."

Professor McGonagall winced, her head shaking as she stood in wait with the dropper in hand.

Draco snapped his eyes shut as Granger lowered him into the bowl. He knew this had to happen, he just couldn't bear to watch that slop draw closer.

Surprisingly, it didn't taste nearly as awful as he dreaded, and the bathing part . . . . Well, the rubbing of Granger's fingertips as she worked the mixture into his fur wasn't as terrible as he imagined, either.

Then they waited.

And waited. Even as one of the elves brought them food long after dinner had come and gone.

And waited.

Hermione's heart had sunk all the way to her feet by the time the clock chimed midnight. She couldn't imagine Draco felt much better, he'd hung his head well over an hour ago and hadn't met her gaze since.

"I am very sorry, Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy," Professor McGonagall said, her voice quiet and heavy as she rubbed a towel over Draco's fur, removing any dried excess of the potion. "We will simply have to keep trying."

Hermione nodded, forcing a hard gulp down her throat as she scooped up the ferret.

"I am sorry. I thought this was—"

"Please don't apologize, Professor," Hermione said, a sad smile on her lips. "You tried your best, and, as you said, we'll just . . . keep trying."

Hermione was barely holding it together by the time she crawled under her covers. All her dashed hopes and frustration, the idea that this was all over being snatched away as quickly as it had come caused the sharp, painful sting of tears in her eyes and the tip of her nose.

That night, she fell asleep curled onto her side, cradling the ferret to her chest. And she might just've been sobbing quietly all the while.

Draco drifted off not long after, having lost count of how many times she apologized to him that night. It wasn't her fault, yet she still acted as the responsible party.

He could probably go his entire life without ever hearing her say the word  _sorry_  again. And he could certainly do without ever hearing her whisper through her tears.

* * *

What seemed only moments later, Hermione burrowed her face against a solid warmth beside her. She made a content, snuggly sound as arms tightened around her, holding her protectively.

Something in her mostly-slumbering brain clicked then.  _Arms?_

Tilting her face up and blinking her sleepy eyes open, she found herself staring at the underside of a pale, perfectly-angled jaw. Her heart slammed against her ribcage as she shifted back, glimpsing the platinum hair falling across his brow.

"Draco!" she whispered, the syllables rushing together.

He made a sleepy sound in the back of his throat.

Frowning, she shifted back further, bracing her palms on his shoulders. "Draco!"

Finally, he opened his eyes. It seemed forever passed of him simply holding her gaze before he understood her alarm. "Granger?" his voice came out rough and ragged—sounding exactly as one who hadn't spoken in weeks might—but it was there! He could hear his own  _voice_!

She smiled, her eyes watering. "It worked, after all!

Relief thudded through him as he pulled her into a tight hug. "Thank you!"

"You're welcome," she said, her voice muffled against his chest.

He suddenly pulled her away just a bit, only to lower his mouth toward hers.

Hermione ducked back, her face scrunched.

Draco blinked in confusion. "I thought you wanted—"

Laughing, she pressed a finger to his lips. "What I want is not to kiss someone who has breath of 'I've been a ferret the last few weeks.'"

Grey eyes shot wide. "Oh, Merlin. Is it that bad?"

She barely held back a laugh as she nodded.

But then the sound of someone stirring nearby intruded on them.

Her heart hammering all over again, Hermione looked about the room. Sunlight was pouring through the windows, and her dorm-mates were beginning to wake for their day.

Swallowing hard, she turned her attention back to Draco. Draco, who no one was supposed to know was  _at_  Hogwarts.


	20. Butterflies the Size of Hippogriffs

**Chapter Twenty**

Butterflies the Size of Hippogriffs

Hermione shifted against Draco as she began to slip out from beneath her covers, only to freeze. It hadn't registered on her a moment ago when her head had been against his chest, but now . . . .

Transfiguration usually took the wizard's clothes  _with_  them, so then why . . . ? It was all she could do to keep herself from peeking beneath the quilt to confirm that he wasn't wearing a  _stitch_.

She turned her head, darting a quick gaze about the room before asking in a tight whisper, "Are you  _naked_?"

Quite obviously surprised, himself, Draco lifted the covers just enough that he could catch a glimpse of his own body. Meeting her gaze with widened grey eyes, he nodded. "It appears I am."

" _Why_  are you naked, Draco?"

"I've no bloody id—"

A rustling from across the room caught their attention, and they looked over as one to see a sleepy Ginny sit up. Her eyes still closed, she rubbed her fist against them, in turn.

Hermione scrambled out from beneath the covers, throwing them over him. She crawled this way and that across him, nearly unaware of her movements as she tore at the linen cords that held the bed's curtains against the posts. The swaths of rich, crimson velvet fell down, hiding them from sight.

Breathing a sigh of relief, she settled against her bed, again. For the briefest second, she seemed to forget the Malfoy-shaped lump upon which she rested.

Until a voice, muffled and murmured, drifted through the quilt. "You know, I seem to rather like the idea of having you on top of me."

Hermione jumped, shifting to one side, even as she whipped back the top of the covers and clamped a hand over his mouth. Draco, apparently giddy with being human again, seemed unable to resist arching a brow at her, making for a rather suggestive look.

She bit her lip to hold in a giggle, even as her heart hammered in her chest at the sound of more stirring throughout the room. The distinct shuffling noise of feet hitting the floor signaled the girls climbing out of bed.

"Hermione?" Ginny's voice filtered through the velvet curtains.

When Hermione grappled for something to say, too stunned to find anything, Draco gave her a gentle jab in the side. "I—I'm just not feeling well today. Have a bit of a headache," she went on, hoping there was no hysterical edge to her voice as she babbled, "the light through the windows was bothering me."

This brought a myriad of soothing, sympathetic statements from her dorm-mates, and the girls struggled to move silently as they readied themselves to head down to breakfast. Hermione was grateful their consideration had limits, otherwise three curious, overly-helpful heads would've poked through the curtains the moment she'd finished speaking.

It felt like forever as she waited there, curled against Draco. Draco . . . in her bed. Naked beneath her quilt.  _Oh_ , it was enough to give a girl fits!

As the quiet shuffling and rustling outside the curtains continued, Draco bent his head, brushing the tip of his nose against hers.

He pulled his head back, thinking his heart could melt at the pink tinge in her cheeks from the simple gesture. Dear Merlin, what  _had_  these weeks as a ferret done to him?

Hermione ignored the wash of warmth she felt in her cheeks as she whispered, "What was that for?"

Draco shrugged, reaching an arm from beneath the quilt to wrap it around her. "Because you wouldn't let me give you a real kiss, so I'm settling, for  _now_."

Again, she bit her lip, and he thought it small victory that her blush deepened.

The sound of the door opening and closing cut across the room, and Hermione heaved out a sigh of relief, her frame sagging in Draco's embrace.

"Hermione?" Ginny's unexpected voice made her jump again, and Draco folded his lips inward to hold in a chuckle. "Are you sure you're all right? You got in awfully late last night. That . . . that last exam didn't go well, did it?"

Sighing, Hermione extracted herself from Draco and sat up. "Actually, Ginny . . . ." She pulled back one of the curtains. "It went better than expected."

Draco nodded, finding the shocked look on Ginny's face wildly amusing. "Morning, Weasley."

"I—I—I" Ginny shook her head as she stammered, her gaze darting from Hermione, to Draco, and back several times. "Why is he in your  _bed_ , instead of tucked away somewhere safe?"

Before either of the bed's occupants could answer—Hermione was going to be honest, while Draco had the  _perfect_  lewd insinuation on the tip of his tongue—Ginny's gaze registered his naked arm. Leading up to a naked shoulder, and the hint of a naked chest beyond that, where his body disappeared beneath the quilt.

"And  _why_  is he _naked_?"

"Well—" Draco started, only to be silenced by Hermione's hand clamping over his mouth, again.

"It's not what it looks like, Gin, I swear!" She felt Draco's body droop a little against hers. Glancing back to meet his suddenly wounded gaze, she shrugged and turned back to the other girl. "To be fair, yes, okay, it  _could_  be what it looks like."

Hermione struggled to keep a straight face as Draco rewarded her honesty by nibbling gently at the fingers over his mouth. "I just mean that it's not what this is. We're not being sneaky, or anything." In a hushed, hurried tumble of words, she explained last night's events to Ginny.

By the time she was finished, Ginny was gazing out the window, her head nodding. Like any girl with even a single romantic bone in her body, she said in a soft voice, "It's sort of sweet that you woke up in each other's arms, though."

Hermione and Draco exchanged a glance, each of them arching their brows.

Ginny looked to the pair, again. "Well . . . ." The notoriously tough Quidditch player cleared her throat, her expression stern for a moment. "I just mean you two have been through the wringer with this whole ferret business, is all. Okay, let's make sense of this. It wasn't a typical transfiguration spell, it was something  _stronger_ , so maybe it was a more violent process, and the magic shredded his clothes."

Draco nodded thoughtfully as Hermione said, "That actually makes sense." She shook her head, focusing on the  _actual_  problem at hand. "Look, Ginny, we can't leave him here like this, and even if he  _were_  dressed, we can't really get him out of here with everyone going through the common room on their way to breakfast, either."

Ginny nodded, "Okay, what do you want to do?"

"You go find Harry and Ron, let them know what's happened. Maybe one of them has something that will fit him." She ignored the little sound of disgust that rumbled from Draco at the thought of wearing borrowed clothes. "And we'll need Harry's Invisibility Cloak, just in case. Even if everyone's down at breakfast, just  _one_  student running behind and seeing Draco in the corridor, or something, could be a problem."

"Right, got it."

Ginny was at the door in a blink. As she was about to open it, Draco called out in a shouted whisper, "And bring back a toothbrush!"

After the door closed, Hermione turned her head to look at Draco once more. "A tooth brush?"

He shrugged, one corner of his mouth lifting in half-grin. "If you think we're leaving this room before I have a chance to snog you senseless, you've got another thing coming."

She looked away, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip and a blush flaring in her cheeks. Butterflies the size of hippogriffs fluttered about her stomach as she leaned back against him, silent as they waited for Ginny to return.


	21. Clean Hair and Facial Scruff

**Chapter Twenty-One**

Clean Hair & Facial Scruff

"Draco, don't!" Was the first thing Ginny heard as she opened the door, followed by a scandalized giggle.

Just as quickly, she pulled the door closed, again. Taking a breath and letting it out slowly, she looked to the things she carried—pyjama bottoms, a plain white t-shirt, slippers, the Invisibility Cloak, and of course, the tooth brush Draco had hollered for, along with a tube of mint paste. Really, the boys had let her have free reign of their trunks, and she grabbed what she thought he might need. Real shoes might've been more practical, but there'd be less chance of them fitting properly.

Well, he'd have to make do without underpants at the moment, but after being a ferret for a few weeks, she was certain he wouldn't mind going commando—as her Muggle-born friends referred to it—as much as he might have before all of this had happened.

Clearing her throat, she rounded her shoulders and opened the door, once more. Wincing, she lifted her gaze to Hermione's bed to find she'd forgotten the curtains were still down. A bit of the tension drained from her—though it became difficult not to tense up, again, when she heard another ripple of Hermione's laughter curl through the room.

"Ahem," she said, not wishing to surprise them, because Lord only knew what she might see, then, were she to open the curtains under  _those_ circumstances.

"Ginny!" Hermione said between giggles, her voice breathless. "This isn't . . . this isn't what it sounds like."

Frowning thoughtfully, Ginny set her bundle down on the night table beside Hermione's bed. Gripping one swath of crimson velvet in each hand, she parted them wide.

Hermione was curled into a ball as Draco, still wrapped—mostly—in the quilt tickled her sides. The oddly determined look on his face only made the entire scene more amusing.

"Okay, all right, ferret-boy, enough," Ginny said, shaking her head as she relinquished her hold on one of the curtains. Slipping her fingers around one of Hermione's wrists, she pulled the other witch straight off the bed.

To her credit, Hermione was on her feet and standing, immediately. Though, she did—also immediately—double over catching her breath, even as a few more delayed giggles escaped her.

Picking up the shirt, bottoms and slippers, she tossed them at Draco. "Here!" Letting the second curtain drop closed, she said in a stern tone that was alarmingly reminiscent of her mother, "Get dressed!"

Heaving a sigh, Ginny let her shoulders droop and turned to meet Hermione's gaze.

Her friend's chestnut eyes were wide, and her eyebrows were drawn upward. "You know, you just sounded exactly like—?"

"Yes, I know," Ginny replied through clenched teeth. " _I_  heard it, too."

* * *

After he dressed and vanished to the currently-vacant washroom to brush his teeth and wash up a little, Hermione withdrew her quill and a roll of parchment from her bag. She sat down and uncapped a bottle of ink, before shaking her head, apparently thinking better on whatever she was about to write.

Turning on the chair, she faced Ginny. "I was going to write notes for Pansy and Professor McGonagall, but with everything going, having anything in writing might be a bad idea."

Ginny nodded. It was amusing to watch Hermione try to get her brain to work before her morning tea.

"So, informing McGonagall shouldn't be a problem, I just don't want her to be surprised when she finds us waiting for her at her office. But Pansy, try to catch her eye, let her know you need to talk to her. She's clever, she'll give her friends the slip somehow and find a way she can get to you in private."

Ginger brows shot up in surprise. "Never thought you'd say something kind about Pansy."

Hermione smirked as she gave a shrug. "Well, technically I wasn't being kind, I was only making an observation. But, yes, she's actually been shocking helpful."

"Shockingly not a nasty pain in the arse the entire time."

"Oh, are we talking about me, or Pansy?"

The girls looked toward the door to find Draco standing there. His pale blonde hair was a bit darkened, freshly scrubbed and slicked back with water. Hermione also noticed that the scruff of golden facial hair from having been unable to shave for a while was still there—she knew he didn't have a razor, but she'd figured he would improvise, somehow. She wouldn't have put it past him to nick the one she used for her legs from her trunk.

That was okay, though; she sort of  _liked_  the scruff.

"If we were talking about you, we'd have been saying something far worse, I imagine," Hermione said with a bright grin.

Draco chuckled, shaking his head as he stepped into the room and set the brush and paste on her night table. He turned back toward them, fixing his gaze on Hermione's.

Ginny's eyes snapped from Draco, to Hermione, and back. A touch of warmth flared in her cheeks as she nodded at nothing in particular. "I think I'll just . . . get down to breakfast now. I'll make sure Professor McGonagall knows to have the elves bring you breakfast at her office."

The sound of the door closing behind her seemed to echo around them. Instantly Hermione felt those silly Hippogriff-butterflies slamming about in her stomach and her breath stick in her throat.

Swallowing hard, she turned to face Draco. For a few strained heartbeats, they only stared at one another.

"Um . . . ." She shrugged, shuffling her feet. "So how do you feel now that y—?"

Draco's lips pressing to hers cut off her words. Rather than stepping back, or pushing him away, or any other thing she  _might've_  done, Hermione closed her eyes. Gripping her fists into the front of his t-shirt, she pulled him closer.

At the feel of his arms slipping around her waist, she tilted her head, darting her tongue out to trace his lips.

Draco pulled back just a little, only enough to meet her gaze. "Why, Granger, I had no idea."

She smiled, the bridge of her nose crinkling in a mischievous expression. "Oh, Draco Malfoy, just shut up and snog me!"

His dark eyebrows shot up his forehead. "Yes, ma'am."

She held in a giggle as he lowered his head once more, his tongue thrusting between her lips.

* * *

Professor McGonagall frowned as she closed the door behind them and turned to face the pair. Of course, that was much easier once Draco lowered the Cloak's hood and actually  _had_  a face to frown at.

"Your breakfast has gone cold and I was beginning to grow concerned. Whatever took you two so long to get here?"

"Sorry, Professor," Draco said, a chuckle running beneath his words. "My—my fault entirely. I was just getting a feel for—"

Granger's elbow in his side cut him off and he winced, immediately rerouting his statement. "Just getting my bearings, being human again, and all."

Hermione bit her lip, her gaze wondering the suddenly too-interesting portraits on the far wall.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

By Muggle Means

"The Time-Turner," Harry said, the sudden—albeit whispered—outburst startling Hermione.

Chestnut eyes flashing wide in a mix of shock and trepidation, she darted her gaze about the confines of the Room of Requirement. For what they  _required_ —or, rather, what Hogwarts deemed they required—the Room had transformed itself into living quarters. Not unlike a moderately-sized flat, Draco's hideout featured a bedroom, a small sitting area, and a private bath and washroom. All the necessities that meant he didn't have to leave the Room for more than visits to McGonagall's office.

At first, he'd not liked the idea of staying there alone, and neither did Hermione, who insisted she didn't mind sleeping on the sofa in the sitting room. Which, of course, prompted Harry and Ron to say how very much they didn't mind staying in the sitting room with her, despite that this meant they slept curled up in the decidedly smaller pair of matched armchairs.

Of course, they both claimed it all the better for Draco's protection, but Hermione and Draco were each painfully aware that it was to see that when she  _said_  she'd sleep on the sofa—in an entirely separate room from Draco  _and_  his bed—she  _meant_  the sofa.

Now, as Harry mentioned one of the few devices in the Wizarding world that's name could manage to lodge Hermione's heart in her throat, night had fallen on Draco's fourth day as officially human, again. As she looked about, she found Ron and Ginny were fast asleep in the armchairs, as Harry sat across the sofa from her. Pansy had slipped out an hour ago, as her absence from the Slytherin dormitories might be noticeable. Draco sat on the floor at Hermione's feet, his head resting against her knees.

He, too, was asleep, and snoring ever so softly as she raked soothing fingers through his hair.

The tension in her body easing as she noticed the others were too deeply in slumber to hear Harry, she let out a sigh. "First of all, shush about that! You're not even supposed to know Time-Turners exist. McGonagall and Dumbledore were the only ones who knew I was using it. She issued it to me, he gauged how many turns were necessary for whatever time needed winding-back. Without his expertise on the matter . . . who knows when I'd end up?"

His shoulders drooped as he watched her shrug. Questions about time travel devices most weren't supposed to know existed were hardly a thing one could openly go to the Ministry to inquire about. "Damn. And I'd imagine they're not exactly common items, either."

"Of course not. They're far too dangerous."

"What happened to yours?" he asked, an eyebrow arching in curiosity.

Hermione bit her lip to keep from snapping at him. A Time-Turner was  _not_  the answer, and his insistence on discussing it wasn't doing any good, but she didn't want to speak in anger just now. Not to Harry, he was only trying to help, after all.

So much of the attack was a whirling blur to Draco. They'd all been scrambling for days to come up with something to jog his memory, to shake loose anything more than that singular face, which in itself might not be helpful. Even with his certainty that he'd seen that face in the Great Hall, and evidence that seemed to support the claim, his memory could very well be distorted by fear.

Even attempting to peek into his memories was not helpful. He was simply too naturally gifted at Occlumency to drop his guard—despite that he was  _trying_  to.

By now they were merely grasping at straws, and she knew it. And she was frustrated by their lack of progress.

"I don't know, Harry," she said, forcing her whispered voice to remain steady and light. "I returned it to McGonagall at the end of term and haven't seen it since. We have to think of something else."

He grimaced as he tried to hold back a yawn, but let his head tip back against the cushy velvet of the sofa. "I swear, between us and McGonagall I think we've dismissed every _thing else_ in the whole of the Wizarding world. Hey, what happened with Draco's parents?"

She frowned thoughtfully, shifting to curl herself into the armrest behind her without rousing Draco from his slumber. "Professor McGonagall notified them, of course, but them coming to the school again before this is sorted could draw unwanted attention so . . . ." Hermione smiled mirthlessly as she shook her head. "They don't like it, but they've agreed to keep their distance until the people who did this to him have been found."

"And then there'll be the fun of breaking it to them gently about you two, huh?"

Giggling in spite of herself, she shrugged. "I don't have time to worry about that now. But yeah, I don't imagine they'll be thrilled with their only son dating a Muggle-born. Hell, the moment McGonagall's door closed behind them they were probably referring to me as the Mudbl—" Her face pinched in thought as her words slid off.

Harry frowned, blinking open sleep-bleary eyes that he'd not realized had drifted closed. Hermione had stopped letting that word bother her—had accepted it as a badge of honor—during the War. He couldn't imagine what troubled her about the term now.

"Hermione, what is it?"

"Harry, you're a genius!"

His brow furrowed. "Um, thanks? But why?"

"You said we tried everything we could think of in the  _Wizarding_  world," she said, a grin curving her lips. "Maybe we need to not think of this like wizards, but like Muggles!"

"Don't follow."

"We have been trying things to let  _us_  peek into his head, and maybe that's been the wrong approach all along." Excitement curled in the pit of Hermione's stomach, making her giddy, despite her exhaustion. "Maybe what we need is a way to help  _him_  peek deeper into his  _own_  head."

Harry's jaw dropped as he realized what she was getting at, and felt a little stupid that the idea had totally evaded them until now.

* * *

Professor McGonagall's eyebrows drew upward as she stared at each of them, in turn. Ron and Pansy looked skeptical—though, it Pansy's case, it was more a leery glare of disbelief—Harry, Ginny and Hermione shared an expression of concern, worried that the elder witch would say no. Draco Malfoy, however . . . .

Much to her surprise, the face he wore was hopeful.

"Hypnosis?"

They all—even the skeptical pair—nodded.

Sighing, she turned her gaze to Draco, alone. "And you are willing to try this? You're certain? If I understand correctly, the process, if successful, will call for you to relive the incident."

Draco nodded, again. "I'm certain." His fingers laced with Hermione's, he squeezed her hand gently, feeling reassured—perhaps even strengthened, for as ridiculous as that sounded—when she squeezed back. "If it'll end this, I'm willing to try."

Hermione's heart fluttered a little and she bit hard into her bottom lip, forcing herself to focus. This was a serious moment, she couldn't get distracted by the butterflies zipping through her stomach now. Not when it could simply be her imagination that his voice came out steadier and clearer after she'd gripped his hand just a bit more tightly in a sign of encouragement.


	23. Couch Cuddles & Coke-Bottle Glasses

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

Couch Cuddles & Coke-Bottle Glasses

Four days later, Hermione slammed shut the last book from the small pile of texts on psychology and hypnosis her parents had managed to send her. A hand landed on the back of her neck and she jumped, instantly wide-awake.

She'd done nothing but pour over the words before her since she received them. A little exhaustion was no surprise, though that her eyes weren't crossing by now from the exertion was.

Whipping her head around, she met Draco's gaze. He was seated on the sofa behind her as she sat on her knees at the small coffee table. How caught up in her research had she been that she'd not even realized he was there until just now?

Without waiting for him to ask what was so upsetting to her, she faced away, again. Her gaze on the book's cover, she shook her head. "I don't . . . I don't think I can be the one to do this. At least, not without possible damage to your psyche. Or making you come away thinking you're a chicken every time a bell rings."

His eyebrows shot up as he looked from the book to her, and then back. "That might not be useful under our current circumstances, but what a great prank that would have been to pull on someone back in first year."

She giggled in spite of herself, before stretching and yawning. "You should know you're bit less cute when you remind me of what a terrible person you used to be."

"Only a bit?" He chuckled as he reached down, slipping his arms around her. Pulling her up onto the sofa, he guided her to lie down with him, her back to his chest. "Why, Miss Granger, I do believe you might have thought I was cute back then, too."

Smiling, she pillowed her head on his crooked forearm. "Well," Hermione said as she let her eyes drift closed, "you're never getting an answer about  _that_  out of me. Still, this bothers me. We're going to have to get outside help."

"You mean go see some Muggle who knows how to do this?"

" _Some_  Muggle?" Again she shook her head. "I meant a licensed hypno-therapist. There _are_ such things, you know. I just am much more comfortable with situations where I can find the answer in the pages of a book."

He tightened his arm around her waist, pulling her just a bit closer against him. "Well, look at it this way—you found part of the answer. That answer just so happened to be 'go ask someone else.'"

Hermione sighed, snuggling against him.

"We're going to have to memory charm them, aren't we? In case I say something a Muggle shouldn't hear?"

"Of course we are. Don't worry, I'm good with those."

"I wasn't worried." He grinned against her hair. "I was simply marveling at the fact that I'm not more upset about putting this in Muggle hands."

"Maybe I've simply been a good influence on you," she said, a tired smile playing on her lips.

Resting his cheek against the top of her head, he let his gaze sweep the room—or, more notably, the two vacant armchairs. "Speaking of influences, good or bad, where are  _they_?"

"Gryffindor tower. Ginny finally convinced them you didn't need a babysitter."

He chuckled, noting how she sighed again, and pressed her back more firmly against the rumbling in his chest from the sound. Yes, he could  _definitely_  get used to this. "And here I thought it was you they were looking after."

Hermione turned her head, pressing a kiss to his throat before she settled back, once more. "It's actually neither. They were just being difficult because it's . . . well, it's you. If I were with anyone else—well _, nearly_  anyone else, pretty sure dating your friend Blaise would garner the same reaction—they wouldn't have given us such a hard time." She let out a low breath, her sleepy words beginning to run together. "That's why I didn't fight with them about it. They need time to get used to the idea of, well,  _us_ , is all."

Draco smirked, his eyes closing. "You're far too patient with them, you know that?"

"They would say them same of me with  _you_ , you know."

He brushed his lips against the top of her head. "Once this mess is all through, patience will not be a word in either of our vocabularies."

Hermione blushed, feeling the thundering return of those hippogriff-butterflies stampeding through her stomach. "Why, Mr. Malfoy, do you mean what I  _think_  you mean by that statement?"

"I  _mean_  I'm content to fall asleep on this sofa with you—where any of your  _helpful_ friends might burst in on us at any moment—because I have something  _much_  better planned for the next time you and I are closed off in a bedroom together."

She bit her lip to hold in a scandalized giggle, even as she slipped her arms over his to pull them more tightly around her.

Hermione was certain the color in her cheeks hadn't faded one little bit as sleep finally overtook her.

* * *

Pansy crinkled her nose as their motley bunch crowded into the notably New Age-influenced office. She waved a hand in front of her face in an attempt to banish thick plumes of incense.

"I don't like this," she said, her lips twisted in an unpleasant expression.

"You didn't  _have_  to come, you know," Ron pointed out.

Hermione wasn't sure if she was the only one who noticed the brief look that flickered through the Slytherin witch's dark eyes as she shook her head and glanced away.

She made a mental note to ask Ginny if something was going on between those two that she didn't know about. At the moment, however, Ginny was busy slapping Harry's hands away from some interesting piece of gemstone art. The last thing anyone of them wanted was to leave something broken with no explanation for the poor therapist, who would undoubtedly already be having fits wondering where an entire hour of their life had vanished to.

"This was the closest to the station, and she was the only one willing to see us on such short notice." Hermione pursed her lips in distaste as she glanced about the crystal knick-knacks every-bloody-where. "Besides, even if the Muggle concept of New Age _is_  rubbish, they do put more stock into regression therapy than anyone else."

"Look, we're  _here_ ," Draco grumbled, his shoulders slumped. "I may not like it, but we _are_  one step closer to having this all sorted."

They all turned away from their bickering huddle at the sound of the beaded curtains behind them clinking about.

Hermione's jaw dropped—and she was certain her expression was mirrored by the group. Her gaze bounced over the extra-thick glasses, wild hair held back by a colorful swath of cloth, and Gypsy-inspired attire the woman before them was garbed in.

"Welcome, my children. I am Doctor Eves," the woman said with a smile, her voice low and willowy. "Now, which of you is my patient?"

Blinking rapidly a few times, Hermione whispered over her shoulder, "Any chance Professor Trelawney's got a Muggle cousin?"


	24. Almost As Planned

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

Almost as Planned

As Draco moved to follow Dr. Eves through the door she indicated, he reached back, lacing his fingers with Hermione's.

Hermione bit hard into her bottom lip, forcing herself not to look back at the group as she let Draco tug her along. She trailed behind him through the door, softly closing it behind her, before turning her attention to the room before them.

Well—she nodded her head side-to-side as she glanced about—other than the ungodly amount of New Age knick-knacks lining the shelves here, just as out in the waiting area of the office, the rest of the space looked almost precisely like any psychiatrist's set up she'd seen on the telly. That was strangely comforting to her.

As were the framed diplomas and doctorates lining the wall behind the desk.

She let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding and the set of her shoulders eased. Yes, there was  _definitely_  a comfort in seeing the doctor's official certifications.

Dr. Eves spun on her heel after retrieving a pad and pen from the top of her desk. "Well, now, I . . . ." Her voice trailed off as she tipped her head to one side, eyeing Hermione around Draco's shoulder. "Miss, you should know I don't ordinarily allow observers."

"Dr. Eves, I must insist you make an exception," Draco said, his tone firm.

Hermione's heart fluttered at the way his hand tightened around hers as he spoke. She bit back a grin—of course she knew the unusual circumstances that brought them together had fostered a mutual sense of protectiveness and support. But whenever he made it obvious that he felt he _needed_  her close, she couldn't stop her pulse from quickening.

Her magnified gaze landing on their twined hands, the therapist nodded. "Ah. Of course, I  _do_  make exceptions if so requested by the patient. Please, sit down."

Draco walked to the sofa, still clinging to Hermione's hand as they both sat. He focused on his breath, on the simple sensation of it moving in and out of his lungs. Focused on the fall of his clothes against his skin. On the feel of Granger's hand clasping his.

Every now and then, at totally random intervals, she would stroke the pad of her thumb across the side of his hand. He liked the feel of it, but he didn't like the randomness. The one thing he noticed during his time hiding out in her hair was that Hermione Granger was only random when she was feeling frantic and nervous. She was nervous now, despite that this was her idea.

Turning away from the doctor as she took her seat, he cupped Granger's cheek with his free hand. Those chestnut eyes lifted to his.

For a moment, he simply held her gaze. "I'm going to be fine."

"So, then. Draco, is it?" Dr. Eves adjusted her glasses on the bridge of her narrow nose as she read over her notes. "Now, you're here because you're trying to recall details of an attack a few weeks passed?"

"That's correct."

The doctor nodded. "Alright then," she said as she reached backward, onto her desk, retrieving a silver and wood metronome. "Shall we begin?"

Draco exchanged a glance with Hermione, who tried for an encouraging grin—though she failed, her sad attempt nearly made him laugh. "Yes."

"Good." Dr. Eves cleared her throat as she set the metronome on the coffee table between them. "Then get comfortable."

* * *

Ginny frowned as she looked from Pansy to Ron, and back. They sat on totally opposite ends of the waiting area from one another. The Slytherin witch was perched on a window sill, staring out into the street below. Ron was in an overstuffed beanbag chair, fussing with a bit of loose thread on his sleeve.

They seemed in their own little worlds, and yet . . . . Every now and again, Ginny could swear she noticed their gazes skittering in one another's direction. Just as quickly, their attention would snap back and they'd shake their heads.

She really would have to find out what that was all about.

The sound of something cracking behind her caused Ginny to turn her head. Harry stood beside a shelf, the same piece of gemstone art she'd kept him from earlier was now in two . . . . One half sideways on the shelf, the other half—jagged half—was in his hand.

He met her gaze, his green eyes wide behind the wire rims of his glasses. "Oops."

Ginny's frame slumped as she slapped a hand against her forehead.

* * *

Hermione was taking notes of her own, and she looked up from the descriptions Draco was providing. She knew the first one—the ring leader. They _all_  did.

Seven faces, in all. She was certain they could determine who the other six were. But then . . . .

"No, no!" Draco was shouting suddenly, thrashing on the sofa.

Dr. Eves and Hermione shared a glance before they both looked to Draco.

"Doctor? Please bring him out, now! We know the rest, we only needed their faces!"

Nodding, Dr. Eves spoke, her voice low and delicate, soothing. "Draco, stay calm. You're safe, here. Now, I'm going to count backward from five, as I count, you will feel yourself coming back. When I snap my fingers, you will wake alert, and feeling refreshed."

Hermione's brow furrowed as she slipped her hand inside her jacket to grasp her wand.

"Five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . . one." Dr. Eves snapped her fingers, and Draco's eyes blinked open.

He sat up, darting his gaze about, uncertain if that had worked or not.

"How do you feel?" Dr. Eves asked, but Draco ignored her, turning his attention to Hermione.

"Well?"

The witch nodded. He nodded back, and Hermione drew her wand. Before the doctor even noticed the movement, Hermione spoke the charm.

Hurrying, she jumped up from her place beside Draco. She tore the relevant pages from the doctor's notepad and then rounded the desk.

Draco looked from the door to Hermione. Why weren't they leaving? "What're you doing?"

"Marking out her appointment with you." She quickly referenced previous entries to see how the doctor crossed off cancellations.

Making a similar squiggly line through the box with Draco's name, Hermione set the pen back exactly where it had been. "Okay, we're done, here."

* * *

All four in the waiting area looked up as Hermione and Draco returned.

"Well?" Pansy asked as she got to her feet.

"We got them. All of them. Now, one is familiar, but the others—"

Pansy snatched the notebook from Hermione's hand. As she looked over the page, her eyes grew wide. "I know them."

"That figures," Ron said, his tone acidic.

Curling her lip, Pansy replied in a hissing whisper. "Shut it. No, really. These six? They're all seventh year transfers from Durmstrang. Figures they'd all be in Slytherin. But this last one—"

"I know." Hermione nodded. She met everyone's gaze pointedly, in turn, before she continued. "Professor Harken."

There was a moment of strained silence through the room, until Harry said, "Wow. Curse of the Defense against the Dark Arts post strikes again."

Hermione turned to him, nodding. And then she saw the broken art piece on the shelf. Wincing, she sighed.

Why could nothing  _ever_  go as smoothly as planned?


	25. Past Grievances

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

Past Grievances

As they neared the station, Draco slid a hand around Hermione's elbow and pulled her to a stop.

Frowning, she glanced toward the group and then met his gaze. "What's wrong?"

"Um, nothing, I just . . . ." He licked his lips, fidgeting in place as he looked about for a quick moment.

The show of nervousness worried her. Turning her head to catch sight of their friends—strange as that observation was, but she supposed they were  _their_  friends, now—and cleared her throat. They'd gotten half a block without even noticing she and Draco had fallen behind.

Her shoulders drooped. They probably assumed she and her  _boyfriend_  had popped around a corner to sneak in a bit of snogging before they were all crowded into a train car together. Hermione set her jaw, her stomach fluttering a bit at that notion. She  _did_  like that idea, but . . . .

Oh, bloody hell! She couldn't even remember where she was going with that train of thought, now.

"Harry! Ginny!"

They all looked to each other and then turned to face her.

Pansy arched a brow, waving from herself to Ron, and back. "Oh, sure. We get no mention, do we?"

Hermione sighed. "It would have been a bit of a mouthful to call all four of your names. Just give us a minute, okay?"

Draco leaned close, whispering in her ear, "It's sort of personal."

She ignored the group's irritated expressions. Sure, she adored Harry . . . and okay, Ron, too, but they were really going to have to either hide their feelings about her and Draco better, or accept the fact and let it go. Instead, she pointedly met Ginny's gaze, and then Pansy's.

In that silent way of female communication, the two girls exchanged a glance. Pansy shook her head, scowling before she stamped her heel. "Fine!  _Ooh_ , look, why don't we go check out that shop of Muggle knick-knacks on the corner?"

Ginny sank her teeth into her bottom lip to keep from giggling, even as she used her hand linked with Harry's to tug him along. Pansy's approach was far less gentle as she grabbed Ron by his shirt collar and started walking.

When she was certain they were out of earshot, Hermione pivoted to face Draco. "All right, then. Let's have it."

"I want to go see my parents."

Hermione's jaw dropped, her eyes widening as she felt her heart shudder in her chest. Even with what was developing between them, it never occurred to her there might be reason for her to set foot in Malfoy Manor, again.

She liked to believe herself a brave person, but after Bellatrix . . . .

"I understand if you don't want to go, Granger," Draco said, nodding. He hadn't really thought through what his request might mean for  _her_. "But  _I_  have to. The last time I saw my parents before I left for school . . . ."

A pout tugged the corners of her mouth downward. This was obviously important to him, and she couldn't let him go by himself with everything going on. She sighed. Maybe if she was back in the Manor under different circumstances, it would help her get past what had happened to her there.

Only . . . ?

"What happened?" she asked, reaching a hand to cup his cheek.

Giving a bitter smile, he rested his fingers over hers. "I was angry with them for . . . everything. I was always either saying things to hurt them, or not saying  _anything_  to them, at all." He shook his head, swallowing hard. "I never thought when I left for school I might never get to talk to them, again."

_Dammit, all!_ Hermione stood on her toes, slipping her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly.

In response, he held her close, pressing his lips to the top of her hair. "And, of course, the only time I did get to see them after _that_  I was a bloody ferret!"

She tried to hold back her snickering, but failed as she felt a chuckle rumbling in Draco's chest. "Okay. Okay, you've sold me on the idea. We'll go to Malfoy Manor before we return to Hogwarts."

He gently nudged her head back with his chin so that their gazes met. Smirking, he leaned down, brushing the tip of his nose against hers.

"Trying to get out of trouble with ferret kisses? You know you weren't  _in_  any trouble just now, don't you?"

Draco nodded, his face so close to hers she could feel his breath ghosting over her lips. "I  _know_. I wasn't being cute to get out of trouble; think of it as a 'thank you.'"

She nodded back, her gaze dropping to his mouth. "Well, lean a bit closer so I can give you something to think of as a 'you're welcome.'"

Grinning, he bent his head, tracing her lips with the tip of his tongue.

* * *

Ginny rolled her eyes after the fourth round of hurled insults between Ron and Pansy. Grabbing the other witch by the elbow, she pulled her into another aisle of the shop.

Sneering, Pansy wrenched her arm from Ginny's grasp. "What is your problem, Weasley?"

" _My_  problem?" Ginny hissed in an angry whisper. "I don't have a problem, but clearly you and my brother do."

Pansy scowled at the mention.

"Spill it, Parkinson!"

When the Slytherin girl seemed reluctant to answer, Ginny frowned thoughtfully. "Well, I suppose I'll just have to ask Ron, then."

"No!" Pansy looked shocked at her own response before she dropped her gaze to the floor. "Okay, fine."

"So, then?" Even as Ginny prodded, she feared what Pansy might tell her.

Pansy sighed, her eyes raking over everything  _but_  Ginny. "I made a comment about how it was strange, but it was almost like we were all friends and I . . . actually didn't mind it. But, your brother—" She sank her teeth into her bottom lip. "He scoffed. He started saying all these awful things about how none of you could  _ever_  be friends with a person as terrible as me."

Ginny's shoulders slumped, any venom she had toward the other girl momentarily stifled.

"I would have thought I didn't care about being friends with any of you, but I guess . . . I dunno . . . ."

"People change, Pansy," Ginny said simply.

The dark-haired girl nodded. "I guess we do. Last year, I wouldn't have cared what any of you thought of me, let alone not mind being considered your friend. I wanted to not care about what he said, but it  _hurt_."

"Look, I'm sure it's not you." Ginny shrugged. "My brother's an idiot, but he means well when it comes to protecting his friends. This whole thing with Hermione and Malfoy has both those two fools over there out of sorts."

Sighing heavily, Pansy occupied herself with inspecting a music box on the shelf beside Ginny's head. "I may have made it . . . worse after that."

"Oh, no."

Pansy snorted a giggle. "I told him he was just a stupid, sour little man, who was only taking it out on me—and likely every other female, besides you—that he blew it with Granger, and now she's with someone so much better than him."

Ginny winced, pressing two finger tips against her temple.

"Yeah. Sometimes my mouth just runs off without me."

"Look, we've got time before the train. Maybe we should all sit down at a coffee shop and get this sorted. How's that sound?"

Pansy nodded. "I guess it couldn't hurt. Fine. Let's go round up our fools."


	26. One Mess Sorted

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

One Mess Sorted

Hermione darted her gaze about the group over the rim of her paper coffee cup. The cappuccino was delicious, but unfortunately, even frothy sweetness did little to dull the edge of tension wrapping around their table.

Neither Pansy, nor Ron wanted to be the first to speak, that much was clear. Of course, Hermione's  _tra-la-la_  attitude—though an obvious and forced attempt at lightening the mood that had failed miserably—during her announcement that they'd be detouring to pop over to Malfoy Manor hadn't helped any.

Ginny was quite frankly tired of being the first one to jump into action, but she was also getting annoyed just sitting here, waiting for  _someone_  to say  _something_. Harry, fussing with the lid of his cup where he sat between Ginny and Hermione opened his mouth to fire the first question.

But Draco—of  _all_  people there—beat him to it. "What the bloody hell are you two idiots waiting for?"

Hermione coughed into her cup as Harry and Ginny exchanged shocked glance.

"What?" Ron demanded, his eyebrows drawing together in an expression that was equal parts mystified and shocked.

Pansy's dark eyes narrowed. "Draco!"

Narrowing his eyes right back, Draco shook his head at his ex-girlfriend. "Don't you  _Draco_ me, Pansy. You two  _are_  idiots. With what's happening, this battle of the wounded egos you two have going either needs to be addressed, or dropped. Period."

"Well, I'm not going first," Ron said, sitting forward in his seat to lean over the table. "She's the one who started it."

"I did not, but that's _so_  like you, isn't it, Weasley? To act like the defending party?"

"What! Where'd you get _that_ from?"

Hermione's brows shot up as she looked from Ron, to Pansy, and back. This was escalating quickly.

"That's enough bile from the both of you," she snapped, slamming down her cup. The brunette shook her finger in their direction. "You two are going to talk this out calmly, here and now, or I swear to God, I will lock you in a room together in Malfoy Manor and not let you out 'til you talk,  _or_  kill each other. Whichever comes first!"

Pansy's shoulders drooped as she dropped her gaze to the floor and Ron frowned, looking to Harry for assistance. Harry only shrugged.

"This is on you, mate," he said, his tone apologetic. "You didn't say a word to me about what happened between you two, so I don't even know what  _I_  could say to help."

Hermione settled back in her chair, as she picked up her cup again. Pressing her shoulder to Draco's, she turned her head, lowering her voice to whisper in his ear. "Did I overstep just now by threatening to lock them up in  _your_  family's house?"

Draco sank his teeth into his bottom lip to hold in a chuckle before he responded. "Maybe a little. But my mother does hate squabbling; she'd probably offer to help."

Sighing, Pansy started. "I just thought . . . with circumstances being what they are, that I didn't mind so much that we were all sort of . . . becoming friends. I mean, you all hated Draco so much for so long, and yet, look at how far you've all gone to help him."

The four Gryffindor students glanced around the table at one another.

"But Weasley heard that sentiment and the first thing he did was rip me apart for thinking it." Pansy kept her gaze trained on the plastic lid of her cup as she picked at the edge with her perfectly manicured fingernails.

Ron's expression clouded over. And then it crumbled. Harry, Hermione, and Ginny all understood that look immediately. Ron had just realized he'd missed something.

"She spent so long being so horrible to us—to you, especially, Hermione—that I really didn't think she could be serious. But that she'd joke like that after acting like she was better than us made me really angry. I just . . . ." He frowned again as he cast his gaze out the window. "I suppose it never occurred to me anything  _I_  said would hurt her."

Pansy shifted one shoulder in a gesture of discomfort. "Well, it did."

"Yeah, I sorta got that, now," he said in a murmur.

"She came to us when she found out Draco was missing, remember?" Hermione couldn't believe she was speaking up for Pansy Parkinson, but there it was. The Slytherin witch had proved herself an equal part of their group, at least in this, and that deserved recognition. "After everything that's happened, that couldn't have been easy."

"And she did agree to be our eyes and ears inside Slytherin," Harry said, nodding. "It could have been dangerous, and she could have told us to bugger off, but she didn't."

Ron smirked half-heartedly. "I know you're right. She's not . . . . She's not nearly as terrible as she used to be." He forced out a breath from between pursed lips. "Parkinson?"

"Weasley?" For the first time the entire discussion, they looked at one another. Only to just as quickly dart their gazes away, again.

Hermione's brows drew together and she shared a glance with Ginny. That little exchange just now . . . . There was probably something  _more_  there, fueling the tension between those two, but they'd deal with that issue when they were ready for it.

Shaking his head—as though he couldn't believe the words falling from his mouth—Ron said, "I'm sorry I said you were a wretched bitch, who'd have an easier time making friends with the squid in the Black Lake."

Ginny winced and Hermione's jaw fell slack. Draco burst out laughing, while Harry hid a chuckle behind his hand.

Pansy rolled her eyes, ignoring their reactions. "And . . . I'm sorry I said you were going to grow to be a bitter old man who'd have to spend his life wanking, because no woman in their right mind would ever touch you."

The reactions from a moment ago played out in reverse—the Gryffindor witches barely contained their giggles as the two young men adopted expressions of shock.

Clearing his throat, Draco turned his head toward Harry. "Okay, I think it's fair to say the girls win this one."

Green eyes wide behind the wire rims of his glasses, Harry nodded in agreement.

Schooling her expression, Ginny spoke up. "Okay, then. Apologies accepted?"

"Yeah," Pansy said, glancing toward Ron, who nodded in reply.

"Good. Then, I guess we're . . . off to Wiltshire."

Draco braced his palms on the table and pushed up to stand. "Um, you realize we—" He looked to Hermione before starting again. "We don't all have to go."

"Actually, we do," Harry said as he grabbed his cup and got to his feet. "They knew precisely when you would be at Diagon Alley. We don't know that they didn't have someone watching Malfoy Manor, or that we won't tip our hand right now by going. We have the Cloak to conceal you 'til we're inside, but even so a group of Hogwarts students randomly popping up on the Manor doorstep  _could_  raise some flags."

Ginny picked up on his train of thought, nodding as she spoke. "Either way things could go sideways when we get back to Hogwarts, so it _is_  right that you smooth things over with your parents while you have the chance. You still don't have a new wand. We can't let you and Hermione go by yourselves, in case there's trouble."

"And here I thought it was just to make sure Granger and I weren't alone there overnight," Draco said, only half-joking as he slung his arm around Hermione's shoulders.

"Nah." Ron gave a cheeky grin. "That part's just a bonus."

Hermione hid a blush behind her coffee cup as she sipped the last few drops. It was hardly as though she might have been  _hoping_  for such a thing, after all.


	27. The Perils of Over-Sharing

**Chapter Twenty-Seven**

The Perils of Over-Sharing

"You know," Hermione started in a low voice, more to distract herself from thinking over the last time she, Harry, and Ron had been on the Manor grounds than to actually make conversation, "we're not considering that maybe they  _didn't_  know precisely when Draco would be there. Perhaps they only figured he'd have to go through Diagon Alley at some point, and just sort of . . . staked the place out, waiting for him."

"Yes, because sitting about doing nothing as you wait for someone who may, or may not, show, is  _the_  most productive method for something like this, and not at _all_  a waste of time."

Hermione's lips twitched as she considered Pansy's words. It was true—that was a horribly impractical way of doing things. But then, people made impractical choices all the time. Unlikelihood didn't make it impossible.

"Ah, there's the Pansy I know," Draco whispered from beneath the concealing folds of the Invisibility Cloak. "Always a right bundle of sunshine."

Ginny stifled a chuckle. Ron and Harry weren't even really paying attention as they rounded the wide porch, keeping their eyes out for anything suspicious in the area. Night was falling, and it seemed the darkening sky was only making them all edgier. Before they'd made their way to Wiltshire, Hermione and Harry had popped into Diagon Alley and rented an owl, delivering to Professor McGonagall the message that their  _errand_ had delayed their traveling party, and they'd return to Hogwarts in the morning.

They'd all agreed that they last thing the elder witch needed just now was to worry that something had happened to the lot of them.

One of the wide double-doors before them creaked open, and Hermione turned to find a grizzled house elf peering up at them. She knew that some had remained loyal to their families after the War's outcome, she only hoped Draco's parents were treating him better than their previous servants.

"Yes?"

"Hello," she said with a grin, though she knew pleasantries from Muggle-borns were not always taken kindly by some of the elves—especially the older ones in service to blood-purists. "Could you please inform Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy that Hermione Granger and Pansy Parkinson are here to see them?"

The elf's beady eyes shifted from Hermione, to Pansy, and back before he nodded. "Very well. Wait  _here_."

He turned and toddled off, muttering under his breath—no doubt about the disgrace of having a Mudblood at the door.

"What are we, then? Tripe jelly beans?"

Giggling, Hermione glanced over her shoulder to meet Ginny's gaze. "No, it's just . . . the last time I spoke with the Malfoys about  _this_  matter, Pansy was there. I figured the specifically-chosen names would be enough to tell them  _why_  we're here."

With a nod, Ginny winked, the bridge of her freckled nose crinkling. "I do love your brain, Hermione."

"Oh, my God." There was Draco's whispered voice, again. "Are you flirting with my girlfriend? And Potter's right  _there_ , honestly!"

"Well, this one  _is_  the prettier of the gingers present," Pansy said, her tone oddly reasonable.

"Oy" Ron piped up, but the girls only laughed.

"Don't get knotted up about it, Draco," Hermione murmured. "Ginny and I don't swing that way."

"Though, we have had the occasion to share a bed," Ginny noted with a shrug.

Hermione nodded. "Oh, true." She shook a finger in the air as she recalled, "Like that time we—"

"Oh, you mean when I found out you're ticklish on your—?"

"For heaven's sake, Ginny!" Hermione giggled, waving her hands.

"I'm just going to guess that this is by far _the_ most interesting conversation anyone wearing this Cloak has ever had the privilege to overhear," Draco said, amusement lacing his hushed tone.

Once more, Ginny shrugged. "You'd have to ask Harry about that."

The Gryffindor witches turned as one to look at Harry. His green-eyed gaze was leaping from his girlfriend to his best friend, and back, repeatedly. And there looked to be the faintest wash of red tinting his cheeks.

"What?" Hermione and Ginny asked in unison.

Clearing his throat, Harry shook his head. "No, um, nothing, really."

"Subtle," Ron said, a grin tugging the corners of his mouth upward.

Their gazes meeting, Ginny's jaw dropped a little as Hermione arched a brow. "Was he just—?"

"Merlin's beard, yes!" Pansy threw her hands up in the air. "He was thinking about you two in bed together."

Wincing, Harry slapped a hand against his forehead.

Hermione leaned closer to Draco's Cloaked form beside her. "You were thinking it, too, weren't you?"

There was a bit of warmth close to her face, and then she felt the distinct brush of the tip of Draco's nose against hers. "If I answer that, I'll be in more trouble than if I  _don't_. So I'll just stay shut, thanks very much."

"So . . . girls don't wonder things like that about boys?" Harry ventured, one eyebrow arched behind his glasses.

"No!" Ginny and Hermione answered at once.

Pansy's gaze was wandering the suddenly too-interesting woodwork of the doors before them as she muttered, "Speak for yourselves."

The Slytherin witch glanced at the other two girls. "What? Clearly you have never seen Blaise Zabini without a shirt."

Ginny sank her teeth into her bottom lip, and Hermione looked thoughtful.

"You know, Gin," Hermione said, her voice low, "I have to admit, I  _have_  wondered about him."

Nodding, Ginny tacked on, "Because of how broad his shoulders look in his robes. I know!"

"Well, if I was _going_  to describe it, I'd have to say . . . ." Pansy made a little humming sound as she tapped a finger against her chin, looking for  _just_  the right words to describe the sight.

Shaking his head, Ron asked in a mystified tone, "Anyone else still trying to figure out how we _got_ into this conversation in the first place?"

Any reply was cut off by the elf's reappearance at the door. "This way, please."

Hermione was astounded at how quickly every one of their expressions sobered as they all trooped through the doors and followed the house elf into the massive foyer.

Well, all the expressions that were visible to her, anyway. For all she knew, Draco was still wearing an amused smirk.

With a start, she realized—again—that they were about to spend the night at Malfoy Manor. She doubted Draco wouldn't use his current possession of the Invisibility Cloak to his advantage and sneak into whatever room they gave her for the evening.

She wondered if there was some way that he could tell what she was thinking, because just then, Draco lowered the hood and winked at her. Hermione thought it a miracle she managed to keep a blush from flaring in her cheeks as they walked through the main floor, about to greet his parents in the parlor.


	28. The Magic-Wielding Elephant in the Room

**Chapter Twenty-Eight**

The Magic-Wielding Elephant in the Room

Hermione stared down at the dish before her, her fingers a bit numb, even as she moved her fork. She watched the prongs of the utensil poke into utterly delicious-looking glazed pheasant on her plate, as though the action was somehow separate from her.

"Miss Granger, is . . . there something wrong with the meal?"

Looking up, wide-eyed—hearing either of the elder Malfoys address her directly with any tone other than disdain in their voice was still a bit of a shock to her system—she met Narcissa's concerned gaze. She swallowed hard, shaking her head as she struggled for something to say. Narcissa had asked the question the same way dinner party hosts would if they feared they migth've just unknowingly served steak to a vegetarian.

They'd all agreed it best not to share the information they'd uncovered about Draco's assailants, just yet. With the vindictive streak they well knew Lucius to possess, that might paint a target right on Professor Harken, sending his cohorts in the student ranks into hiding, and then it might  _never_  be fully resolved.

When their motley little group had entered the parlor earlier, the Malfoys, with very little preamble, had actually hugged their son. Well, for Narcissa, Hermione supposed, that wasn't so odd. But watching  _Lucius_ Malfoy hug  _anyone_?

The Gryffindors had all looked around at one another, their expressions filled with something akin to dread, and even Pansy appeared to share their sense of not understanding what they'd witnessed. Draco, for his part, looked genuinely surprised.

Until he hugged his father back.

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief at that, a note of giddiness wrapping around her heart at how at peace Draco looked in that moment. It helped that it was a quick wrap-up to what she was certain was likely the most awkward few minutes of her entire existence.

Or . . . what  _had_  been the most awkward few minutes of her entire existence, until she found herself seated at the Malfoy's ridiculously long dining table, a plate of the most amazing-smelling food in front of her.

She was utterly positive they'd never even thought to invite a Muggle-born to share a meal with them, before. But she couldn't exactly say that, could she? She was pretty sure they were  _all_  aware of this fact, and pointing it out would be beyond rude.

Besides, she was certain their hosts felt  _just_  as awkward about her presence there as she did—the looks their son kept stealing in her direction only added to that. Hermione highly doubted that unlike other situations, this was not one which would be improved by poking at the magic-wielding elephant in the room.

She forced a grin. "No, no. Everything's lovely, Mrs. Malfoy, thank you. I suppose it's just been a long day."

"Oh. Very well, then," Narcissa said in a light tone, offering a small smile of her own and returning her attention to her own plate.

Hermione tried to avoid looking at the others, but found she couldn't escape Draco's gaze. She turned her head ever so slightly in his direction.

He mouthed the question,  _Are you okay?_

She dropped the grin, but nodded in reply. She didn't want him to worry over nothing. Forcing her discomfort aside, she finally took the first bite of food.

And had to mindfully keep her eyes from rolling to the back of her head over how good it tasted.

* * *

"Your room, Miss," the elf said in his creaky voice as he opened a door and swept a bony, long-fingered hand toward the open entryway.

Pansy's room was directly across, and Ginny's was one to the left. The boys were at the opposite end of the guest wing. Hermione could only guess that the Malfoys felt like any parents would, with a co-ed sleepover situation going on under their roof.

As though distance was  _really_  a factor when teenage witches and wizards were involved.

She nodded and stepped inside. Pivoting on her heel, she said, "Thank you," but the elf was already toddling back down the corridor.

Hermione bit her lip as she reminded herself that it might have nothing to do with her blood-status, and more to do with the fact that he was the servant of a pure-blood Wizarding family. He was probably not accustomed to hearing words of appreciation.

She glanced up and down the corridor, wondering if Draco would know which room she was in. The idea of him popping into Pansy's and Ginny's rooms as he looked for her was as amusing as it was mildly horrifying.

Sighing, she shook her head and stepped back into the room, closing the door behind her.

Crossing the floor, she let her gaze touch on polished antique furniture, fine crystal candlesticks, plush velvet drapes. When one ignored the more awful things that had occurred in other areas of the house, Malfoy Manor was actually quite lovely.

Sitting on the canopy bed, she ran her fingers over the thick quilt. Soft, silky to the touch.

Kicking off her shoes, she scooted further back onto the bed and let herself fall, her head hitting the pillow. After a moment, she couldn't help herself; she turned onto her side, snuggling her cheek against the fabric.

"Oh, dear  _God_ , this is comfortable," she said with a content sigh.

She knew she shouldn't have laid down—what if Draco did sneak over to find her? She knew she shouldn't have even sat on the bed—there was a perfectly acceptable arm chair by the window. She should not have put herself in a position where falling asleep suddenly seemed like the best idea  _ever_.

"Okay, Hermione, get up." The words left her lips in a muttered tumble.

Groaning at herself, she imagined sitting up and swinging her legs down from the bed. Saw herself planting her socked feet on the floor and standing; walking across the room to that chair.

She was fast asleep before her imaginary bum hit the equally-imaginary cushioned seat.

* * *

Draco dropped the Cloak on the floor and  _tsk_ ed, shaking his head. There she was, curled up, dead to the world and even snoring just a little.

Well, what she'd said at dinner had been true, enough. It had been a long day—for all of them. But even so . . . .

He smirked, whispering to himself as he strolled toward the bed. "Fall asleep on me, will you? Oh, you'll pay for  _that_ , Granger."


	29. Bad Draco!

**Chapter Twenty-Nine**

Bad Draco!

Hermione snuggled back, content in the warmth surrounding her. So pleasant . . . the bridge of her nose crinkled as her she held in a sleepy giggle. This was  _familiar_ , she was sure of it—the soft, steady thudding against her back, nearly lining with her own heartbeat, the surety of the arms holding her, the texture of his skin against hers.

_Skin?_

Immediately wide-awake, her eyes snapped open and she looked over her shoulder . . . her  _bare_  shoulder, peeking out from beneath the quilt. Draco lay behind her, his pale face peaceful in slumber and his  _equally_  bare arm draped across her.

"Oh. My. God!" She barely kept her voice at a shouted whisper.

Draco bit the inside of his lip, holding in a chuckle at her reaction. Refusing to open his eyes, he shook his head against the pillow, forcing out a sleep-slurred tumble of words. "C'mon, Granger. You already exhausted me once, tonight. Back to sleep, all right?"

"What!" She sat up, clutching the quilt to her chest. It did little to help her predicament, as it only revealed more bare-Draco, and she snapped her eyes shut. "What the bloody hell happened?"

Normally, she would not mind the excuse to be this close to him, or to have him, well,  _bare_ , but in this case . . . . In his parents' house, with all their friends an elf's sneeze away . . . . And having no idea how they'd gotten like this, she thought perhaps panic was a  _perfectly_  acceptable response.

Opening his eyes slowly, he groaned as he lifted himself to rest his weight on his elbow. "You . . . you really  _don't_  remember, do you?"

For a moment, as she held his tired, bewildered gaze, she wondered if  _this_  was what losing one's mind might feel like. "Remember  _what_ , Draco?"

Tipping his head to one side, he frowned. "Granger," he said, pausing a moment to bite his lip in apparent thought, before he went on. "I don't know whether to find it hilarious, or insulting that you can't remember that we slept together last night."

Her jaw dropped as she shook her head, trying to sort through her memories. That was the moment she shifted under the covers and felt her knickers and leggings still in place.

Her widened eyes narrowing into a glare, she wrenched up the covers to see they were both fully clothed from the waist down. Lowering the covers, once more, she turned that wrathful look on Draco.

A grin crept across his lips as he winked. "Had you going there, didn't I?"

"You . . . you awful . . . ." Hermione shook her head again, unable to find just the right words. "You horrible—Oh!"

Draco let out a yelp as she kicked him straight off the bed.

After a moment of him not reappearing at the edge of the mattress, her brows drew together. "Draco?"

He held in groan as he rolled onto his back, having landed particularly hard on his side. "I'm okay. I'll just . . . be here a minute, collecting my thoughts."

Her shoulders drooped, but it served him right. He could have just crawled into the bed and slept holding her, but no, he  _had_  to play a prank. She wanted to shake her finger at him and utter the admonishment,  _Bad boyfriend!_

Okay, so maybe there  _were_  still some hold-overs in their relationship from his ferret-days.

"You took off my shirt and bra."

He shrugged against the floor, wincing at the movement. "Turns out after a long day, you sleep like the dead. Be grateful I was a gentleman, I didn't do  _anything_  more than that. Just climbed in the bed and went to sleep."

"Sure, after removing your own shirt, as well, so it looked like something happened."

"I was grumpy that you didn't wait up for me!"

Hermione smiled in spite of herself at that. Still holding the quilt to her chest, she stretched out along the bed, peering over the edge at Draco.

He merely stared back at her for a silent moment.

"You could have simply woken me up," she said.

"True, but that lacked originality, don't you think?"

Tilting her head, she let her gaze rove over him. "Did I really hurt you?"

He rocked his head in a sideways nod. "To be fair, you caught me off-guard, so I had no chance to brace myself. So . . . a little, yes."

Hermione disappeared from the edge of the bed. Draco's brows pinched together at the sound of rustling fabric, but then she reappeared, rounding the bed and coming toward him. The quilt was around her shoulders—and unfairly obscuring her girly-bits—and she carried a pillow.

Settling on her knees beside him, she reached one hand behind his head. She ignored the way his pained expression brightened as the movement caused the quilt to fall open. Lifting his head gently, she set the pillow beneath it and the snuggled down next to him, covering them both with the quilt and resting her cheek against the hollow of his shoulder.

Circling her with his arms, he nodded, his gaze on the ceiling. "This works, too."

"You'll have to be back in your room before everyone wakes up, of course."

"Of course," he echoed, nodding again.

"And you'll have to think of something to say to your parents if you're bruised. Can't exactly tell them you were in here, can you?"

"Probably am bruised," he said, swiveling his head to meet her gaze as he pouted. "It really _does_ sting, you know. I wonder if you could do something to make me feel better?"

Grinning, she shifted around him. She pressed tightly against him as she leaned up, brushing her lips over his.

He slid his hand up, into her hair, tilting her head for him as he deepened the kiss.

Hermione lost herself in it for a few minutes, pressing tighter against him and making delightful little sounds in the back of her throat. She'd forgotten, entirely, about their current state of undress.

Forgotten, or couldn't help _ignoring_  in the moment? Well, it was sort of the same thing, she reasoned a bit later as Draco grasped her shoulders and pushed her back, breaking the kiss.

"Sorry," he said in a breathless whisper. "But we keep that up, and I'll soon be in a different sort of pain."

Biting her lip against a bashful giggle, Hermione nodded. She settled against his side, once more. "Sorry," she whispered back, aware that Draco's plans for the next time they were shut up in a bedroom together had  _not_  meant a bedroom under his parents' roof.

"It's fine. I'm keeping a tally, anyway."

Laughing, she pressed a quick kiss to his shoulder. "Good night, Draco."

"Good night, Grang—Hermione."

She was rather certain she fell asleep with a smile on her face that night.

* * *

Draco sighed, rolling his eyes as he held up his arm for the elf to look at the bruise on along the side of his ribs.

The group stood just outside the room, able to see some, and hear most, of what was happening, as Lucius had left the door a jar when he'd entered.

"You fell out of bed?" The elder Malfoy's voice cut into the corridor. "How on earth did  _that_ happen?"

Hermione was  _far_ too busy admiring the pattern of the carpet beneath her feet to notice the gazes of her friends landing on her in a mix of curiosity and suspicion.


	30. The Unexpected Apology

**Chapter Thirty**

The Unexpected Apology

Through the foyer window, Hermione could see the others on the porch, fidgeting and pacing restless. She didn't even want to still be within the Manor walls, herself, but one of them had to stay inside as Draco bid farewell to his parents—all so there was someone to visible to walk through the open door when he was finished, without rushing him through his goodbyes, or making things feel awkward by having the  _entire_  group close enough to listen.

As it was, there she stood in the foyer, humming to herself as she bounced in place on the balls of her feet, and did everything but stick her fingers in her ears. Anything so she wouldn't hear the likely very personal words of parting and reconciliation being spoken in the parlor, just now.

She wasn't even certain that it was because no one else  _wanted_  to stay, so much as they didn't feel it appropriate that any of them stayed behind, rather than her. They were all still eyeballing her over that whole Draco-falling-out-of-bed thing—about which she and the pale-haired Slytherin had both been decidedly tight-lipped. Hermione figured that was just as well. If they said nothing, their friends would insert their own  _interesting_  theories into the void, if they tried to explain, every word out of their mouths would be viewed with suspicion.

It became painfully clear throughout breakfast—by way of darted glances and giggly whispers—that  _no one_  thought either of them so innocent that they would all believe  _nothing_  had actually happened.

She tried not to blush as she considered everything they believed had probably gone on last night.

Footfalls drew her attention and she stopped bouncing. Dropping her hands to her sides, she looked down the corridor.

Draco stepped from the parlor, his parents trailing just behind. Lucius walked with his hands clasped behind his back, while Narcissa's fingers grasped her son's elbow.

As they reached her, Hermione, not quite certain what to do with herself, moved automatically to open the doors as Narcissa pulled Draco in for one last hug. He shook his father's waiting hand, and then threw Harry's Cloak over himself.

She waited for Draco to pass her—what with his  _totally_  unnecessary swat to her bum to let her know, and which she struggled not to react to, for at least his parents' sake—letting him get out onto the porch with the others before she moved to follow.

"Miss Granger?"

Hermione halted mid-stride. The rest of the group, already starting down the steps, halted as well. They turned as one to look back at her. Holding their attention for a few, pained heartbeats, she pivoted on her heel.

"Yes, Mrs. Malfoy?"

Narcissa nodded back into the house. "A moment of your time, if you would indulge me?"

Though she was certain her feet were glued to the spot, she realized too late that she had no idea where the currently-invisible Draco stood. An unexpected prod from behind sent her stumbling back toward the open doorway.

_Clearly_  he was of the opinion that his mother and his girlfriend could stand to be on less strained footing with one another.

Straightening up—and ignoring the startled expression flitting across the elder witch's face—Hermione forced a smile onto her lips and nodded. "Of—of course, Mrs. Malfoy."

She folded her arms across her chest to keep from fidgeting nervously as she crossed the threshold to stand before Narcissa Malfoy. Lucius, for his part, made a show of looking for somewhere else— _any_ where else, Hermione would imagine—to be for whatever conversation was about to take place between the two women.

Hermione tried not to blanch, or force a gulp down her throat, or do any other thing that might betray how suddenly nervous the former-Dark wizard's skittishness made her.

"I know we have not always been on the best terms," the pale-haired woman said, darting the tip of her tongue out to wet her lips, "but I think you understand how very important Draco is to us."

Brow furrowing, Hermione nodded. She didn't  _truly_  believe there was any way she could understand how they felt, but she could certainly imagine.

"I would like to ask . . . ." Narcissa met Hermione's gaze then, lifting her fingers to her throat to fuss with the high, black-lace collar of her dress. "I would like to ask, if you would, watch over him."

Hermione's face fell and her jaw dropped just a bit. "You, um, you want me to—?"

"To take care of Draco, yes," Narcissa said, nodding.

"I . . . ." Hermione shook her head, though she was positive the both well knew she was going to agree.

"He listens to you, Miss Granger. I am certain you have noticed he can be . . . rather hard-headed."

Biting her lip, the younger witch held in a laugh.

Narcissa smiled, but went on. "I believe he will likely listen to your voice over any other. He trusts you, so I find myself obligated to do so, as well."

"Thank you," Hermione said, though her voice was a bit tight at the  _obligation_  sentiment. At least the woman was honest, she'd give her that much.

" _And_  I have seen how he looks at you."

Hermione's heart fell into her stomach.

"That can only work in his favor in this case, yes?"

Nodding, Hermione tried to relax. Here, she'd been expecting some sudden tirade about how no  _Mudblood_  would ever be good enough for the Malfoy heir. Well, Hermione reasoned, to be fair, Narcissa Malfoy had a distinct sort of class and grace about her. She wasn't likely to refer to any Muggle-born as a Mudblood to their face.

Once more forcing a smile, Hermione said, "I will. Of  _course_ , I will watch over him, Mrs. Malfoy. Well . . . ." She shrugged, unable to help a laugh. "As we as he'll let me, anyway."

Narcissa shrugged right back—though Hermione imagined it was a much more elegant movement than her own. "Men, more trouble than they are worth."

Again, Hermione laughed, shocked that Draco Malfoy's  _mother_  was joking with her.

Clearing her throat, the Gryffindor nodded toward the open doors, and the waiting group beyond. "Well, we really should go, now. Thank you very much for hosting us last night."

Hermione turned, stepping toward the porch.

"Oh, one final thing?"

The girl didn't turn back, instead merely looking over her shoulder.

"For what it is worth . . . ." Narcissa dropped her gaze to her hands, then. She opened her mouth a few times before she could get the words out, causing Hermione to wonder what could possibly give the poised woman so very much trouble to say.

Shaking her head, Narcissa cleared her throat and tried again. "For what it is worth, I  _am_  sorry for what my sister did to you."

Hermione's face fell all over again, but she could think of no response as Narcissa Malfoy turned and vanished into the depths of the Manor. Whether her inability to react was based on her shock at an apology she  _never_  expected to receive, or the unpleasant ripple of that particular memory, she couldn't be certain.

She felt Draco's fingers slip around hers, and she let him tug her across the porch and down the steps to follow their friends.


	31. One Less Burden

**Chapter Thirty-One**

One Less Burden

"I don't know about this," Draco whispered in Hermione's ear.

He shadowed her as the group had made their way through The Leaky Cauldron, and into Diagon Alley. So close behind her, in fact, that a few times they'd bumped into one another when she stopped short.

She was certain  _he_  stood so close on purpose, specifically waiting for such moments.

He was certain  _she_  kept stopping short on purpose, specifically to  _create_  such moments.

Just now, as he'd leaned his chin over her shoulder to speak in her ear, she stilled, shivering a little at the way his warm breath brushed her skin. And he'd stopped just in time to prevent their bodies colliding, yet he stood close enough that she could feel his chest press ever so lightly to her back.

Clearing her throat, she reminded herself to breathe. The others had noticed her stop, and halted, as well. They drifted to stand around her—and the concealed Draco—in a loose formation. All near enough to mask the direction of anything Draco might say.

"What d'you mean? This was  _your_  idea, remember?" She gestured toward Olivander's. "We detoured, because you thought it would be smart that we take advantage of this time to replace your wand. And we all agreed it would be a weight off everyone if you're able to defend yourself."

"I know, but . . . ." Draco fidgeted beneath the cloak as he eyed the white-haired proprietor puttering about through the shop's window. "I don't think he'll want to help me."

" _I_  wouldn't," Ron said, muttering the words under his breath, only not  _quite_  low enough.

The group turned as one to look at the ginger-haired wizard.

Finding himself the center of attention, he shrugged, wide-eyed. "What? Only being honest."

Hermione took a step toward Ron—a statement about how unfair he was being on the tip of her tongue—but Draco slid his fingers around her elbow and pulled her back.

"No, he's right."

Eyes shooting wide behind the wire-rims of his glasses, Harry darted his gaze about as he said, "Malfoy just agreed with  _Ron_. I think it's finally happened. I've gone mad."

Pansy and Ginny laughed, while Ron only mirrored Harry's shocked expression. Hermione bit her lip to hold in a giggle, though she imagined Draco was either scowling or squaring his jaw in irritation beneath the Cloak's hood.

"Look, I was on my way to this shop the first day of school. I was attacked _just_  around the time I was wondering what I was going to say to the old man."

Ron's face fell and he looked away as a somber tone fell over them all. "Let's just go in and see what he says," he said, nodding.

Sighing, Hermione clutched at the front of the Cloak and began tugging Draco along with her toward the shop's door.

As the motley group entered the mostly-repaired establishment, Mr. Olivander smiled at them from behind the counter. "Well, look at all of . . . you?" His gaze had drifted over the familiar faces to land on the Slytherin witch with them.

After holding her attention for a strained moment—during which Pansy alternated between pursing her lips and furrowing her brow as she wondered what was going through the elderly wandmaker's mind—he looked at Harry. "I have the feeling I've missed something."

Hermione stepped forward, glancing over her shoulder at the open shutters around the windows. Would he object to closing them?

"Mr. Olivander," she said, forcing a smile. "Is there a backroom to this shop where we could speak privately?"

Nodding, he eyed her curiously as he stepped from behind the counter. "This way, Miss Granger."

Glancing back at the others, she followed him through the shop. He escorted her into a cramped woodworking area, which seemed as though it probably wasn't much bigger than Harry's old cupboard.

She waited until she felt Draco brush into the small room behind her, and then closed the door.

"Mr. Olivander, we need your help."

"And there's some reason you and your friends could not ask me at the counter?"

Hermione fussed with the hem of her sleeve as she held his gaze. "Well, it's—"

"It's for me," Draco said as he lowered the hood.

The old man yelped in shock at the head of Draco Malfoy seemingly floating in the air, and Hermione winced. Draco had the good grace to immediately remove the Cloak and fold it over his arm.

Mr. Olivander pressed his palm to his chest as he looked from Hermione to Draco, and back.

"Sorry for the shock," she murmured, thinking she might just give Draco a good smack later for surprising an old man like that.

"Mr. Malfoy, what, exactly do you mean by—?"

"First, let  _me_ apologize, too."

The elder wizard's jaw fell open at a Malfoy apologizing. Hermione was certain she knew  _exactly_  how he felt.

"Not just for the scare, but for  _everything_  that happened. I wouldn't even trouble you right now, but I really  _do_  need your help."

Olivander looked him over with cold, appraising eyes. The young man certainly  _sounded_  contrite enough. And Miss Granger . . . . Well, the poor dear looked like she might just have a fit if he turned them away.

Shoulders drooping, the old man sighed. "All right. Tell me what's going on."

* * *

After ten minutes—during which Ron and Pansy had deigned to entertain themselves, as well as Harry and Ginny, by trading insults in alphabetical order—Mr. Olivander strode back through the shop and right past them. Without a word, he began shuttering the windows.

Hermione trailed a few steps behind the old man, the set of her shoulder far less tense than when they'd walked in. She met Harry's gaze and let out a sigh as she nodded.

Once the windows were all closed up, and the shopkeeper had bolted the door, Draco dropped the Cloak, once more.

Clapping his hands together, Mr. Olivander spun on his heel to face the group. "All right, Mr. Malfoy. Let's find you a new wand."

* * *

Several different styles and cores, and a few instances of catastrophe later,  _the_  proper wand was finally in Draco's possession.

"Thank you, Mr. Olivander."

The old man only smiled and nodded.

They all turned to leave as Draco unfurled the Cloak. Then, thinking better on it, he looked up at Mr. Olivander, and the group.

Slipping his hand around Hermione's, he said, "Just give us a moment, will you?"

Before anyone had a chance to answer, she was already being tugged back across the shop and into the tiny room.

"Draco, what—?"

Her question was cut off as he abruptly shut the door and pulled her into his arms. He brought his mouth down over hers, playfully nipping at her lips before he kissed her.

A little shiver ran through her and she let out a harsh breath as he pulled back enough to look at her. "Not . . . ." She licked her lips and shook her head, trying again. " _Not_  that I'm complaining, but what was that for?"

"For everything," he said simply, his gaze searching her face.

Her brow furrowed in question as she tried to understand.

"Not just helping convince Olivander, but literally  _everything_  you've done since you found out I was that  _stinky_  ferret." He paused for Hermione's responding giggle at that. "You didn't have to do  _any_  of this."

_Okay_ , she thought, _now this makes sense_. "I know  _you_ think I didn't have to." Shrugging, she nodded. "But I did. As soon as I knew what was going on, and I knew  _I_  could help, I had to."

The look of confusion on his face spoke volumes. She couldn't help but laugh as she raised her hands to cup his cheeks.

"It's called having a conscience," she said. "Not surprised you're unfamiliar with the concept, given  _your_ history."

Though he knew she was picking on him, he still found that he couldn't work up a reply. She kissed him back, spun out of his arms, and opened the door.

"Oh, that's just  _rude_ , you know that?" he finally managed as she reached back to take his hand in hers.

"Now, now," she said, having too much fun at his expense suddenly as she tugged him along with her through the shop, "time to get back to Hogwarts."


	32. Home, Again

**Chapter Thirty-Two**

Home, Again

The Hogwarts Express felt odd, so quiet and uncrowded as it was when the group loaded onto the train in London. So unlike the cramped, cheerfully noisy environment they had all grown accustomed to on their usual trips to and from the castle grounds.

Pansy started to make an automatic bee-line for the compartment the Slytherin students so often claimed. She'd done so on the trip departing Scotland, as well, so Hermione supposed she wasn't surprised the other witch had done so, again.

She also knew that Draco was, once more, making that very same bee-line.

They'd made the Slytherins sit in one of  _their_  usual compartments yesterday, so . . . . Shrugging, Hermione followed Pansy.

When they were all inside the notably more spacious section, they locked the compartment door and pulled the shades.

Draco whipped off the Invisibility Cloak and tossed in onto one of the empty seats.

"God," he said in a hissing whisper as he fell into a sitting position beside Hermione, "I will be  _so_  glad when I can stop living in that thing."

Harry grinned, speaking as he slung his arm around Ginny's shoulders, though the expression was a bit mirthless. "And  _I'll_  be so glad when my family heirloom is no longer necessary to keep your ungrateful arse safe."

Ron bit his lip, holding in a chuckle.

Pansy murmured while she stared out the window, a bored expression gracing her features. "Anyone else feel like, somehow, even with everything we've been through already, this is turning out to be  _the_  oddest year we've had at Hogwarts?"

Hermione lifted her hand, her gaze dancing over Draco's pale fingers, intertwined with her own. She never thought she'd consider such a sight a comfort, and yet it was.

"I have to agree," she said, despite the smile curving her lips. "Especially considering I keep seeing eye-to-eye with Pansy Parkinson."

Pansy laughed as she shook her head, continuing to watch the landscape flitting past the window.

Dropping his head down against Hermione's shoulder, Draco angled his mouth to whisper in her ear—and delighted in the way she shivered at his breath against her skin, "You know, this train is almost entirely empty. We could have gotten a compartment all to ourselves."

She bit her lip hard, waiting for the sudden blush in her cheeks to fade. Though she hoped no one else noticed, she doubted that was the case. But she refused to look up from her hand in Draco's to confirm that.

Angling her mouth closer to whisper back, her voice barely a thread of sound, she said, "If you really think I'd agree to that after what you pulled last night, you're mad."

Chuckling, he let out a sigh before turning his head to press a quick kiss to her shoulder. "Mad men can dream, too, Granger."

* * *

As they neared the castle, the Slytherin witch made a noisy and dramatic show of parting from the group.

Plastering a disgusted look on her face, she stormed off, throwing her hands in the air. "If I  _never_  see the simpering, sniveling lot of you again, it'll be too soon!"

"Finally you say something that's not  _completely_ stupid," Ron hollered back, far too comfortable—Hermione and Ginny agreed, upon dissecting the little play later that evening—jumping back into the guise of open hatred toward her.

Either the guise wasn't a guise, or he was too happy for something to distract from the fact that it  _was_.

As the remaining four—well,  _visible_  four, but in reality, five—stepped into the castle's grand foyer, they divided, yet again. Hermione and the Cloaked Draco took the path that lead up to McGonagall's office, while Harry, Ginny, and Ron headed to Gryffindor tower.

Each time they passed anyone—even if the person was meters away—Hermione had to focus to keep herself from freezing up, mid-stride. She concentrated on the movement of her legs beneath her, and the sound of her own footfalls against the stone-tiled floor.

She knew she was being paranoid, or, at the very least, overly cautious. That Draco was likely more aware of each and every passerby than she was, and was neatly sidestepping them, but that she couldn't see him, and so could not know that for certain, was the cause of the sudden spike in nauseating, uncomfortable tension coursing through her.

All it would take was one wrong step to yank part of the Cloak open, and then what? How was she to explain a disembodied torso—in full-color, unlike the misty grey of school's regularly seen apparitions—wandering along the corridor at her side?

Honestly, this actually made her once again miss when he was a ferret hiding beneath her hair. When she could know that he wasn't in danger, because she could feel the weight of him against her neck.

What a strange turn her life had taken that it'd become second nature to worry so much about Draco Malfoy.

Draco could tell by the way she fidgeted, curling her fingers around the cuffs of her sleeves and twisting the fabric, that she was nervous about walking through the corridors with him while other students were about.

As they stepped into the spiraling lift, that odd, twitchy stiffness hadn't left her. Under the cloak, he tipped his head to one side, his gaze roving over her thoughtfully as he wondered how to take the edge off that tension for her.

Hermione jumped, clamping her hand over her mouth just in time to hold in a shocked squeak as she swatted the other blindly behind her. "Draco Malfoy," she said after a moment, her swing missing the fingers that had just pinched her bum.

* * *

Minerva McGonagall had expected Hermione and Draco in her office to report what they'd learned upon returning to Hogwarts. What she hadn't expected was that she'd open the door to find the girl yelling at the thin air—openly chuckling thin air—beside her.

Shoulders drooping, the elder witch turned her own gaze on the empty space next to Hermione, as well. "Mr. Malfoy, do I even want to ask?"

Dropping back the hood of the Cloak, Draco Malfoy graced the iron-haired woman with a coy grin. "I was only trying to put her at ease, Professor, honest."

The look on Miss Granger's face—the way she puffed out her cheeks as she chewed her bottom lip furiously, her chestnut eyes narrowed—said otherwise. With a sigh, Minerva turned on a heel. She started back across the office, leading them toward her desk, as she decided she really  _wasn't_  going to ask.


	33. Pansy's Ploy

**Chapter Thirty-Three**

Pansy's Ploy

Pansy sat in the Slytherin common room, waiting. . . . And waiting. And waiting. Just when she thought she might doze off—sitting there, expectantly, simply _waiting_  for the Durmstrang transfer students to pass through—she finally heard their voices.

Which she'd come to know far too well, since they were so much _louder,_ and more obnoxiously boisterous, than their Slytherin house-mates.

She knew one of them had been eyeing her, as of late. From her periphery she'd noticed him sneaking glances whenever she wasn't looking directly at him . . . Okay, so she had  _possibly_ dropped a book and bent at the waist to retrieve it, and  _maybe_  shifted while she'd sat in his eye-line one afternoon, so her skirt drew up a bit too high on one side, showing off her thigh. Ever since, she'd glimpsed him whispering to his friends whenever she passed by him, noticed them giving her appreciative looks, as well. Perhaps he'd been paying her mind before then, who could know?

Either way, she'd gotten—and kept—their attention. And  _this_  was the moment to use it.

Leaning forward, she braced her elbows on her knees and dropped her head into her hands. After a moment, upon hearing their footfalls, she let out a miserable groan.

As expected, their footfalls got louder, drawing closer to her. "Pansy, you okay?"

Groaning again, she dramatically threw herself back against the sofa cushion behind her. Pouting, she lifted her gaze, meeting the dreamy blue eyes of the Nordic god masquerading as a student who seemed to be the ring leader. The very one who's attention she'd snagged, in the first place.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to be loud," she muttered, draping her arm across her eyes.

Peeking from under her arm, she noticed the way he exchanged a smug look with one of his friends.

_Now I've got you_ , she thought, her inner voice almost giddy as he settled on the cushion beside her.

Though, she did think he was going too far by slinging an arm over the cushion, just behind her head. Perhaps it was the gentlemanly thing, but why did boys  _always_  think a girl being upset was in invitation to get cuddly with them?

She was  _so_  not the cuddly sort!

"No, no, it's fine, really." He grinned—she could tell by his voice. "Tell me what's wrong?"

Dropping her arm, she rolled her head to look at him. "Aksel, was it?"

The young man nodded.

"You're sweet, but I'm not sure you'd understand. You'd have to be familiar with my very contentious history with a certain  _Mudblood_ ," she said, clenching her teeth on the word. Oddly, she only realized as she spoke it that it had been a while since she'd used the term.

"Ah." He pursed his lips thoughtfully as he met his friend's gazes in turn. They each, finally, took a seat, as well.

Pansy didn't know if it was impressive, or intimidating that they wouldn't even sit until he'd given them permission, silent though it was. She kept her features neutral as she wondered if perhaps they were looking at this wrong. Maybe Professor Harker wasn't the ring leader after all. Or Aksel held some second-in-command post.

Either way, the observation was  _interesting_ ; she filed the notice of his _possible_  standing within the group away for later.

"It's that Granger girl, isn't it? Harry Potter's friend?"

A scowl pinched her features. "Have we made it that obvious?"

"It's hardly a secret," he said, shrugging his shamefully broad shoulders. "Everyone knows you hate her."

With a heavy sigh, she leaned back a little beneath the weight of his lingering arm. "Then maybe you will understand. I was just stuck on an errand with her, restocking school supplies, and oh, my  _God_! She would  _not_  stop whining!"

"Isn't that what they  _do_?" one of Aksel's friends asked, his tone sour and acidic, in a way that reminded her of Professor Snape. "Whine about their miserable lot in life?"

Pansy waved a dismissive hand in his general direction. "Not that, no.  _Please_ , you learn to tune that sort of blathering out after about third year." She spared a moment to feign a sigh. "We got stuck in London overnight and she spent the  _entire_  time whimpering about how that ginger, mushed-face kneazle monster of hers killed her ferret!"

She felt it as Aksel stiffened beside her, but she didn't dare glance around. She didn't dare react in  _any_ way that might show she was expecting something from them.

"Her  _what_?" he asked, his voice near her ear so low she almost didn't hear him.

Her brows pinching together, she turned her head to meet his gaze, a look of disbelief coloring her features. "Her ferret. You know? Little skinny beasts with beady eyes and long bodies?"

She could tell he was trying not to be insulted that she felt he needed that explanation, and she felt a little thrill of satisfaction at that.

"I know what a ferret  _is_ , Pansy," he said, seeming to regain his composure. "I just had no idea that—"

"So your Mudblood  _friend_ ," the other chatty one said, pausing to chuckle when Pansy sneered at his lame joke, "was the girl with two familiars everyone heard about on the first night?"

"That's right," Aksel jumped in, nodding. "I was just surprised anyone would have two familiars and the school would allow it."

Pansy stood and stretched before giving a careless shrug. "Well, hardly matters now; she's back down to one, isn't she? Anyway, ferrets are  _terribly_  stinky creatures. Good riddance."

She managed a glance around as she faked a yawn. They all looked a little pale . . . even sickly.  _Perfect._

Turning, she patted Aksel on one of his— _again_ —shamefully broad shoulders. "Thanks for letting me gripe about it. I actually feel better, now. Well, good night."

He nodded, offering her a warm grin, but the expression didn't reach his eyes.

* * *

As Pansy breezed past one of the Dungeon pillars, she heard a whisper in her ear.

"Terribly stinky, was I?" Honestly, it had hardly been his fault, now had it?

"Whatever," she murmured over her shoulder, biting back an amused smirk. "My part's done.  _You're_  on, next."

* * *

Aksel stirred in his slumber, swatting at the air.

"Murderer," Draco said, just loud enough to be heard.

The Durmstrang student bolted upright in his bed. Catching his breath, he reached over with a shaky hand to light the lantern on his bedside table.

Just as that shifting illumination filled his room, he saw _something_. Out of the corner of his eye . . . .

Hoisting up the lantern, he swung around.  _Nothing there_.

With a shivering breath, he forced a gulp down his throat and got to his feet.  _Everything_ had gone sideways with the swooping of one hungry feline!

This wasn't his fault, it was an accident, but—

"Murderer."

Again, he spun to face that angry whisper. Again, he caught another quick glimpse, and then it was gone.

He searched the room frantically, but found nothing. His door slammed and he thought his heart would tear through his chest at the shock.

Schooling his features, he squared his shoulders and steeled his nerves.

As he approached the door, he tried to tell himself he hadn't recognized that face. It wasn't, it  _wasn't_ ,  _it wasn't_  who he thought it was! It couldn't be.

Gripping the knob, he yanked the door open. As he did, he found his friends crowded just outside. One of them had a hand raised, ready to knock.

They were all wide-eyed and looked positively  _drained_  of color.

"Bhelin?" he asked the one with his first still hanging in the air. "Did you lot just slam my door a moment ago?"

Bhelin visibly forced a down his throat as he shook his head, his brow furrowing. "Why would we be  _knocking_  if we had?"

Aksel's face fell, realizing that, of course, it had been a stupid question. "What are you all doing here?" he asked in a hissing whisper.

When they all seemed reluctant to answer, he said pointedly, "You all look like you've seen a ghost."

Bhelin glanced around at the others before he nodded. "I think because we have. We all saw—"

"Draco Malfoy." Aksel squeezed his eyes shut and let out a shuddering breath. "I know, I saw him, too." Opening his eyes, again, he met each of his friends' gazes, in turn. "This was an  _accident_! We've got to talk to the professor and let him know what's happened!"

"If I'd known it would turn out this way," Bhelin said, shrugging, "I  _never_  would have agreed to his plan."

* * *

Further along the corridor, Draco held in a chuckle at the hushed conversation, especially when it was unceremoniously announced that his  _ghost_  had caused one of them to wet their bed.


	34. Professor Full-of-Rubbish

**Chapter Thirty-Four**

Professor Full-of-Rubbish

Draco returned to the Room, shedding the Cloak as soon as he had the door securely closed behind him. He sighed and stretched, his gaze scanning his makeshift flat.

There, on the sofa, Granger was sprawled, her head bent back a bit awkwardly. He bit his lip to hold in a chuckle as he crossed the room. She was even snoring ever so lightly—so that it came out as a cute little rumbling sound—but he wasn't about to tell her she snored, or that he thought it  _cute_.

With careful movements, he shifted her forward a bit on the cushions, making just enough room for himself to lay behind her.

He liked that she barely stirred from her sleep as she automatically lifted her head to pillow it against his bent arm.

Pressing a kiss to her hair, he closed his eyes. A smile curved his lips as he recognized that the habitual action meant she was becoming accustomed to sleeping against him like this.

Of course, that was just another  _cute_  thing she did that he wasn't going to mention anywhere that she could hear him.

* * *

There was not even so much as an upward flick of an eyebrow as Professor McGonagall answered the rap at her office entryway. "Yes?"

The dark, sleek head of Professor Emil Harken poked into the room. As the headmistress looked up from the scrolls open before her, he furnished her with a winning smile.

"You wished to see me, Madame?"

Only the very corners of her mouth plucked upward in a tiny, utterly mirthless grin. "Professor Harken," she said, the tone of her voice neutral. "Please, do come in."

The wizard gave a start as she called out while he was closing the door behind him, "And you may wish to have a seat. This  _will_  take a moment."

McGonagall merely tipped her head to one side as she watched him turn and start toward her desk. His movements were suddenly a hair more controlled and cautious than when he'd stepped inside.

Not much of a difference, but enough if one was  _looking_  for such a thing.

"Is there a problem, Madame?" he asked as he drew his robes around him and took a seat in one of the chairs before the headmistress' desk.

"I certainly hope not," she said, her words quick and crisp as she shuffled the scrolls about, before picking up one, in particular. She roved her gaze over the parchment, holding it at an angle that didn't allow the DaDA professor a glimpse of even a single word.

Her demeanor was putting him on edge, but he wondered if she wasn't doing so on purpose. This wonder caused a cold trickle, that was a combination of suspicion and curiosity, to settle in the pit of his stomach.

Forcing a small, relaxed smile, he sat back in the seat, playing at looking comfortable.

"I need you to clear something up for me, if you could, Emil?"

"Certainly, Minerva."

McGonagall kept her gaze trained on the words before her, making no show that she noticed his jovial tone of voice. "As you must understand, any claims made against teachers of this school must be addressed quickly, and thoroughly; so close to the War's end, we must be more than vigilant."

That got his unveiled attention. "Claims?" his voice was tight as he echoed the word. Harken pulled himself to sit up straighter. "What sort of claims?"

At this, she lifted her head to meet his gaze. Her expression remained steely. "Disorderly conduct, I believe is the correct term."

"Professor McGonagall," he said, his brows shooting upward, "do I stand accused of something?"

She gave a curt nod as she let the scroll slip closed in her weathered fingers. Minerva swore that she could  _feel_ his curiosity about whatever she might've been reading emanating from where he sat.

"It has come to my attention that there was an altercation between students at Diagon Alley, the day before the start of our school year. And . . . ." She paused deliberately here, folding her hands before her and nodding, once more. "The claim is that  _you_  were witnessed at the scene of the incident."

"Me?" He seemed genuinely aghast at the accusation, she'd give him that.

"The altercation took place at the entrance to Knockturn Alley, which appears . . . untoward, as you may imagine. As does a Hogwarts Professor  _not_  acting to intercede for the protection of students. The necessity for any teacher of this school, new or otherwise, to be above reproach is paramount, therefore I trust you can understand why I  _must_ ask you this."

He forced a gulp down his throat as he tipped his head to one side, appearing to think on the matter.

Minerva McGonagall forced her posture to loosen just a bit, so that she might be perceived as less severe. She leaned forward a little, dropping her voice to an almost-gentle whisper. "Is there  _any_  truth to this, Emil?"

Harken relaxed visibly. Smiling broadly, he shook his head. "I assure you professor, I did not even pass through Diagon Alley that day. I was already on my way to Hogwarts."

The headmistress nodded as she sat back in her seat and nodded. She allowed some of the hardness to seep from her expression. "Very well, Emil. I shall make note of that. Thank you for your time."

He stood from his seat, giving her a polite, shallow bow of his head.

She watched with calculating eyes as he made his way to the door. His steps were once more just a hint cautious, just a hint more controlled than his usual stride.

After the door was closed, she bit her lip to hold in a grin before she spoke. "Whatever you two are up to, I would  _very_  much appreciate that you cease, now."

Draco dropped the Cloak from where it had been draped over himself and Granger. The girl took a deep breath as she patted her wild hair into something a bit like order.

"I promise, Professor," she said as she crossed the room from the corner where they'd waited out the meeting; Draco's long strides kept him effortlessly at her heels as he followed. "We weren't doing anything  _untoward_."

"Unfortunately," he muttered under his breath, only to feel Hermione's elbow lightly jab his ribs in response.

"Well?" the headmistress asked, as she put the blank scroll she'd used to unsettle Harken back into her desk drawer. "Mr. Malfoy?"

"He's lying through his teeth," Draco said, shrugging. "And the Durmstrang students, now that I've seen them all up-close, it was definitely them."

The professor nodded. "That would explain why he traveled on his own to Hogwarts, rather than taking the express. He could not risk anyone noticing his late arrival to the platform, I suppose."

"Exactly." Draco slung his arm around Hermione's shoulders. "That man is completely and _utterly_  full of—"

Another jab from Hermione's elbow cut him off as she turned her head to meet his gaze with a disapproving look.

He glanced from her, to their professor, and back, his grey eyes wide and innocent. "I was _going_  to say rubbish!"


	35. Stupid All Around

**Chapter Thirty-Five**

Stupid All Around

He could feel Hermione sigh against him as they were stretched out on the sofa later that night. She didn't say anything, though, merely threading her fingers through his and pulling his arms more tightly around her as she repositioned her head against his shoulder.

"Not like you to keep your thoughts to yourself, Granger," he said, pressing a kiss to her hair—a gesture that was becoming a habit they both seemed to rather like. "What's going on in this bushy head of yours?"

Smirking, she gave him a light jab in the ribs with her elbow, forcing a sound from him that was half-chuckle, half- _oof_.

"It's nothing really," she said after he quieted, shrugging in his embrace. "I just . . . it feels strange that this is almost over."

"I think it's strange that if this hadn't happened to me, you might've actually had a completely uneventful year at Hogwarts."

She couldn't help a laugh at that, even as she shivered just little at the way his breath tickled the side of her throat, just below her ear.

"You know, there's a long history of students at Hogwarts who have a whole lot of 'nothing exciting' happening their entire time in school."

Hermione turned her head, angling to brush a quick kiss against his smiling lips. "Ever wonder what that would've been like?"

His brow furrowing, Draco tilted his gaze to meet hers. "What? You mean being bored? Why, yes, I  _have_  wondered how blissfully different sheer boredom would have been!"

She giggled, lifting her face just enough to nip playfully at the tip of his nose. "No,  _stupid_. I mean, really. Knowing what we do now, have you ever thought what it might've been like? Everything that happened was on account of Voldemort's return. What if . . . ?" Once more, she shrugged against him. "What if Voldemort hadn't come back? Do you ever think how different everything would have been?"

He chewed his bottom lip as he thought on that. What was she actually asking? Would  _they_  have been different? Would they  _still_  have ended up as they were now?

All it made him think of, however, were all the things that  _had_  befallen her; all the terrible things he'd done in the name of protecting his parents from the Dark Lord's wrath. All the things that  _wouldn't_  have happened, had it not been for Voldemort's return.

"I want to say yes, because it feels like that's what you want to hear." He paused, then, shifting and moving to turn her in his arms, so her cheek was pressed to his chest. "But no, I don't. I just want to forget all of that."

Hermione nodded, but remained silent as she tucked her head beneath his chin.

"Just like once this is all over, I'd like to forget I was stuck living as a ferret, if that's possible."

"And forget that you've seen bits of me you've not gotten the chance to see with your human eyes, yet?"

He uttered a surprised laugh. "Well, I will admit, forgetting that would be very disappointing." Draco let out a heavy sigh. "I suppose I'd just have to get another nice, long look to cope with such bitter sadness."

"Mr. Malfoy, behave yourself," she said, giggling, before she pressed her face against the crook of his neck to hide her blush.

Using his chin to gently nudge her head up so he could meet her gaze, he grinned. "Behave?  _Honestly_ , Miss Granger! It's like you don't know me at all."

She found herself grinning back as he lowered his mouth to hers.

* * *

Harry tried not to ask the next day at lunch what had Ron so wound up. The ginger-haired wizard stared off as he angrily stabbed at his meal with his fork.

Even when they'd lost a Quidditch match, it wasn't like Ron to ignore a plateful of food right in front of him. Then Harry followed Ron's seemingly aimless gaze, to find it  _wasn't_  aimless at all.

Ronald Weasley was staring daggers at the Slytherin table, where a familiar dark-haired witch pouted and fretted as she toyed with the casually resting hand of the Durmstrang student seated so close beside her, he looked as though he was practically wrapped around her shoulders.

They knew it was all part of the plan, but Ron didn't seem to remember any of that, just now.

* * *

"C'mon, Pansy," Aksel said in a cooing voice. "Just tell me what's wrong?"

Her shoulders drooping, she turned her head to meet his gaze. "I don't want to say. You'll think I'm being stupid."

"I promise I won't!" When she looked doubtful, Aksel caught her fidgeting hands in his. "Tell you what, whisper it in my ear, so I'll be the only one who hears you."

Pansy gave herself a moment, appearing as though she had to think it over. Then, she nodded and leaned into him, tipping her mouth toward his ear. "I think I had some sort of I don't know . . . like an episode last night. I saw my friend Draco in my room, in the dark."

She felt Aksel's shoulder tense against her arm.

"Just for a second, though. There, and then gone. Like . . . ." She forced a gulp down her throat and shook her head. "Like a ghost. Now I'm worried. He was supposed to come back to school this year, but he never showed."

For emphasis, she pulled back again, raising her voice only just above a whisper as she met his gaze, once more. "I thought maybe he just changed his mind, but now I'm concerned something might've happened to him."

Aksel was wide-eyed, but played it off, guiding her to rest her head against his shoulder in a half-hug.

Pansy forced herself to stay as she was, not to turn and follow the movement with her gaze as Ron stood from the Gryffindor table and stormed out of the Great Hall.

* * *

"I was just . . . on edge, is all," Ron said in the common room, later. "Dunno why."

Harry snorted a chuckle as he shook his head. "You're not serious."

Ron's brows drew together in question, just as Ginny approached them. She hung back, though, only listening.

"It's Hermione and Krum at the Yule Ball, all over again."

"What?" Ron asked, looking thoroughly confused, now.

Harry's face fell.  _God_ , Ron could be thick when he was deliberately trying to not understand something.

"You _like_ Pansy Parkinson, stupid!"

Ron's eyes shot wide and his mouth fell open in shock. Yet, before he could sputter any sort of protest, Ginny closed the distance to the armchair her brother lounged across in a single, bouncing step.

"I knew it," she said in an almost un-Ginny-like giddy tone as she clapped her hands together excitedly.

Shoulders slumping, Ron looked from Harry to Ginny, and back. "Is this another one of those 'everyone's noticed but  _me_ ' situations?"

Biting his lip to hold in a laugh at his friend's expense, Harry winced, nodding.

Ginny shrugged. "Hermione and me have known for, like, weeks."

After taking a moment to register his sister's words—which was difficult, what with his brain refusing to let them make sense for a bit—Ron dropped his head back, a pained groan choking out of him.


	36. Slytherin Ways

**Chapter Thirty-Six**

Slytherin Ways

"Oh, Bhelin," Pansy said, her expression brightening as the jet-haired transfer student cross her path in the corridor. "Have you seen Aksel about recently? I've been looking for him."

His brow furrowed, as he met her dark-eyed gaze. If he weren't a bit intimidated by the Viking-stature of his friend,  _he_ might've been the one to woo the pretty Slytherin witch, instead. But  _no_ ; one look at the pure-blood girl—and the notice of her kilometer-wide mean streak—and Aksel had declared her off-limits to the others.

_Pity_ , he thought sourly as he shook his head. "Sorry, Pansy. Haven't seen him since Divination class this morning."

She offered him a disappointed pout. "Damn, okay, then." With a sigh, she pivoted on her heel. After a few steps—and with the distinct impression that he hadn't moved, instead staying put to watch her saunter away—she turned back.

His gaze snapped immediately to her face and he plastered on a small, innocent smile.

"You know what? Do you think you could do me a favor?"

Bhelin nodded. "Sure."

Pansy walked back, closing the distance between them. Shrugging, she reached a hand out, idly toying with a bit of loose fabric on the front of his uniform jumper. "I just realized I never checked the library. I don't have time just now, though, I've been summoned by Headmistress Hard-arse."

He snickered at the way she rolled her eyes, the lids fluttering dramatically as she spoke the less-than-affectionate nickname. "What for?"

"What do you think? Starting another row with her precious pet Mudblood." Pansy curled her lip in a sneer as she shuddered visibly. "Anyway, do you think you could check the library and see if he's there?"

His gaze dropped to where her slender fingers stroked his shirt. "Um . . . sure."

"Fantastic!" She bounced up on her toes to kiss his cheek. "Can you tell him I'd like to speak to him? It's about . . . next Hogsmeade weekend."

It wasn't lost on her the way he bit hard into his bottom lip, holding back a frown, she imagined.

"I mean, if you look and you don't see him, then I suppose I'll just . . . ." She lowered her gaze from his to her hand hovering over his chest, and then looked up, once more. "Have to make other plans for that weekend."

"Oh, I'll  _look_ ," he said with a smirk.

Pansy grinned widely as she turned and walked away. She'd been around boys eager-to-please long enough to know exactly what he'd meant.

He'd poke his head in through the library doors and  _look_ , so he could say he'd done it. But that was all right.

Pansy's grin turned wicked and she barely refrained from throwing a skip into her steps. A moment of peeking and listening was all they needed from him.

_God_ , boys were easy.

* * *

Ginny ran back to the table, nodding to Hermione as she said to the first year seated in the middle. "Okay, sorry about that. Now, please, ask away!"

"All right," the little girl said, her flaxen head bobbing as she nodded excitedly—too happy that  _the_  Hermione Granger and Ginny Weasley had offered to help her. She had no idea what they'd wanted to delay the impromptu lesson, but she was more than thrilled to play along. "So, one can transfigure animals, objects, and people, right?"

"Right," the two older witches agreed, hiding their smiles as Bhelin popped his head through the door just as the girl had stated her question.

"Well, if humans  _are_  animals, why isn't it the same spell for both?"

Ginny winced, rubbing her forehead. "You take this one."

Hermione leaned forward, resting one elbow on the table as she faced the first year. At this angle, she could register Bhelin's presence from the very corner of her eye. "The simplest answer is almost always the correct one. Humans can be transfigured into animals, and animals into objects . . . people into objects, but I think animals would be unique."

"Why's that?"

Shrugging, Hermione pointed to the paragraph in the text they were referencing. "Because while humans can transfigure themselves into animals or objects, animals are only transfigured into objects, not into people."

" _God_ ," Ginny said, making an expression that was half-wincing, half-amused. "Can you imagine what  _that_  would look like?"

"But then that means it  _is_  possible, doesn't it?"

Hermione nodded. "I suppose it does." She paused, tapping a finger to her chin in thought. "Huh, I've actually never considered that before. I would wager a guess people don't do it, because while people transfigure themselves, or their familiars—which by definition have a rapport with their witch or wizard, and thus understand what is going to happen to them—there is really no way for a non-familiar animal to consent to the process, making it horrifically inhumane."

The little girl frowned, her eyes narrowing in a way that reminded Hermione of a younger version of herself. "So transfiguring a being without their consent—"

"Oh, that happened at least once that we know of," Ginny said, still wildly amused by the whole thing. "During my third year, Draco Malfoy was transfigured, quite against his will, into a ferret by a teacher—"

"He wasn't a teacher, Gin," Hermione pointed out with a cringe as she shook her head.

"Fine, he was transfigured by a  _mad man_  who . . . ." Her voice trailed off as Hermione lifted her hand, signaling her to stop, and they heard the soft clicking of the library door closing.

Ginny risked a glance over her shoulder. Certain enough, Bhelin had retreated.

"A madman who was masquerading as a teacher," Hermione finished for her friend, not wanting to leave the younger student without the entire story. "Thank you so much for waiting until now to ask your questions."

The little girl beamed, pleased with the praise. "If I have any more questions, then . . . ?"

"Then you can always, always come and ask us, anytime. All right?" Hermione smiled warmly.

The girl nodded.

"What's your name?" Ginny asked as she and Hermione stood.

"Lily."

The two older witches exchanged a glance. "That's a good name," they said in unison.

* * *

Ginny's face pinched in a worried expression as she and Hermione stepped into the empty dorm-room and shut the door behind them.

"What's the matter?"

The ginger-haired witch's mouth twitched side-to-side. "Nothing, really. I'm just wondering . . . what if we're overplaying our hand?"

"We don't have a choice," Hermione said as she crossed the room to take a seat on her trunk. "We have to keep pushing  _until_  they go to Harken."

Ginny nodded, though she looked doubtful.

"Or, if they do manage to piece it together—though I think that  _highly_  unlikely, given all the things they have no way of knowing about our involvement in this—and they confront  _us_." Hermione shrugged. "I suppose either option is an act of confession, isn't it?"

Her head falling back, Ginny made an unattractive groaning noise in the back of her throat.

* * *

"This is getting ridiculous," Draco said in a hissing whisper as he watched Ron and Pansy pointedly sitting on opposite ends of his room.

Potter was in some hushed conversation with Weasley, so Draco hunkered down beside the dark-haired witch. "What's going on with you two? Whatever it is, it's bloody annoying."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Pansy said, arching a brow, but not lifting her gaze from the book open in her lap. "I'm only playing my part in this scheme—and doing a  _masterful_  job of it, by the way—and  _he's_  acting like I murdered his mum."

"You could try asking him what's wrong."

Pansy gave a tiny start, blanching at the suggestion. She recovered quickly enough, however. "You're trying to be so helpful, why don't  _you_  go ask him what his problem is with me."

"Fine."

Dark eyes shooting wide, she looked up to see him already crossing the room. "Wait, Draco, I didn't actually mean . . . .  _Dammit_!"

Draco stepped directly between Weasley and Potter, blatantly ignoring their affronted expressions. "Look here, Weasley, you and Pansy are going to spend next Hogsmeade weekend hashing out whatever this nonsense between you is, or so help me, I'll transfigure you both into scratching posts, and give you to Granger's Kneazle-beast of a cat."

Aghast, Ron looked from Malfoy to Harry.

Harry only shrugged, one eyebrow arching over the wire rim of his glasses. "Don't look at me, mate. You're _both_ being stupid so . . . I'm actually with  _him_ on this one."

Ron's lip curled in a sneer. "I sort of hate you all, right now."

"That's okay, Weasle-bee," Draco said with a grin, clapping the ginger-haired wizard on the shoulder. "I never stopped hating you."


	37. Hogsmeade Weekend

**Chapter Thirty-Seven**

Hogsmeade Weekend

Ginny leaned down, pressing her lips to Hermione's forehead. As Romilda and Parvati looked on, the ginger-haired witch sat back, feigning a frown.

"You are a little warm," she said, tucking a lock of wild golden-brown hair behind her friend's ear. "Look, you just stay in bed and rest,  _but_  if you start feeling worse, go see—"

"Madame Pomfrey, I know, Gin." Hermione reached out from beneath her blanket to squeeze Ginny's hand. "Thanks."

Ginny squeezed back before she stood and headed to the door. "C'mon, ladies. Any longer and everyone will leave without us."

Parvati and Romilda bid Hermione goodbye, wishing her a speedy recovery as they followed Ginny out the door.

Hermione closed her eyes, counting to thirty before she kicked off her covers and climbed out of bed. She hated that she and Ginny had just fibbed to their dorm-mates, but playing sick was the simplest way to explain Hermione's sudden lack of interest in the freedom afforded by their Hogsmeade trips without raising any suspicions.

She scurried about the room getting things ready.

* * *

When Draco opened the door and slipped into the room, he found Hermione setting out text books and scrolls around her where she sat cross-legged on the floor. He wanted to think this was a joke, until she glanced over her shoulder at him as he dropped the Invisibility Cloak and she smiled  _sweetly_  at him.

He tipped his head to one side, a mildly confused scowl marring his features. "You're not serious," he said as he lowered himself to sit behind her and slipped his arms around her waist.

"You're behind on your studies, I asked Professor McGonagall if I could be permitted to catch you up on the lessons you've missed." She shifted to look at him over her shoulder. "This way, you can start back to classes as soon as this is all over, because you  _won't_  have missed anything."

His shoulders drooping a little, he bit his lip as he reached to open the first of the texts. "Granger . . . ."

She shrugged, brushing her lips against his chin. "Surprise."

"Yes, well . . . ." Draco couldn't help but grin at how happy she was presenting him this  _surprise_. "You're lucky you've got a boyfriend who actually  _enjoys_  studying. Not s' much as you, of course, but then you're completely mad."

She feigned a scowl. "Mad, am I?"

"Hey," he said with a chuckle as he touched the tip of his nose to hers. "You _are_  the girl who started liking me when I was still a  _ferret_."

"Well, there  _was_  a certain charm to you not being able to speak."

Draco's jaw dropped, but any protest he might've sputtered was cut off by Hermione's smirking mouth covering his.

* * *

Ginny looked up from her butter beer, the fingers of one hand intertwined with Harry's. She sneaked a glance at a table entirely on the other side of the establishment.

Shifting in her seat, she managed just enough of a change in position that she could see the dark-haired witch and her  _date_  without being obvious.

Pansy, seated beside Aksel—feigning a smile, laughing at whatever he was saying—suddenly seemed to remember something. With an apologetic pout, she muttered a few words as she shook her head.

Scowling, he opened his hands in a questioning gesture as he responded, but she only shook her head, again.

She planted a kiss on his cheek, and then ducked out the door.

Ginny breathed a sigh of relief, her shoulders drooping as she relaxed. Turning her attention back to Harry, she said, "Finally she's gone to meet Ron. With any luck, they'll finally have this sorted."

"Do you think any of us should be there? Like to supervise?" he asked, trying not to look directly at Aksel—he could tell the other wizard was unhappy about his date vanishing on him. Pansy sure had him wrapped around her little finger, though.

He kept a careful eye on the Durmstrang student's general vicinity, however. Harry hoped he wouldn't have to think of some way to intervene if Aksel suddenly decided to tag along after her.

Ginny's ginger brows had drawn up, but she took a sip of her butter beer before answering. "Pansy and Ron are going to sort their differences. If one of them decides to kill the other one, do you really want to have to help hide the body?"

Harry bit his lip to hold in a laugh as he shook his head. "Pretty sure Pansy  _already_  has a plan for what to do with Ron's corpse if it comes to that."

She frowned, her eyes narrowing at the unspoken disparagement to her brother. "Who's to say  _he_  wouldn't be the one doing the killing?"

He responded with an eloquent lift of his brows.

Laughing in spite of herself, she nodded. He might have proved himself a fierce fighter during the War, but Ronald Weasley still held some strange idea about  _going easy_  on girls, and if Hermione had used that to her advantage in defense practice, Pansy _certainly_  would during the real thing.

"You're right. She'd  _wreck_  him."

* * *

Pansy found him, 'round the far side of the Shrieking Shack—a place many still dreaded, and thus avoided. The view of this area was obscured by the rundown house on one side, and thickly wooded roadside on the other.

Ron leaned against the wall, looking out at the trees. His hands were stuffed in the pockets of his jeans and he drew a sigh, though he didn't turn his head to look at her as he spoke. "Here I wasn't sure you'd show."

Shrugging, she stepped up beside him and turned, leaning against the wall, as well. "I considered  _not_ , you know."

He nodded. He could hardly blame her; to say things between them were  _awkward_  was a wildly dramatic understatement. That nod led to a while of the two staring out in silence, each waiting for the other to speak first.

"I didn't like it," he finally said, swallowing hard. "You having that big, stupid Durmstrang git draped all over you like that."

"I can take care of myself, you know, Weasley."

"Yeah, I know that, Parkinson. That's hardly the point, though."

Pansy nodded, her dark eyes narrowing. "I know. And I suppose I . . . I didn't like that you didn't like it."

He remained silent, but his mouth twitched in what was almost a frown for the briefest moment.

"Okay, fine. I liked that you didn't like it." Again, she shrugged, shaking her head. "But I—I didn't like that you were upset."

Ron risked a glance at her face. Her gaze was locked on one of the nearby trees. "Thing is . . . what I _really_  didn't like was how much I didn't like it. You're a Slytherin witch, for Merlin's sake. I'm so used to hating, well, _everything_  about you."

She turned her head at that, searching his features. "A Slytherin witch? Is that really  _all_  you can see me as?"

Drawing one hand from his pocket, he swept the longish ends of his ginger hair from his eyes and let his arm fall at his side. "It  _was_. Then it wasn't, and that's something I've been having trouble with."

"You seem okay with the whole Draco-Granger thing."

He smirked, one eyebrow flicking up for a second as he said, " _I_  don't have to come to terms with that; I'm not the one dating him."

A giggle tore out of Pansy at that and she shook her head. "Oh,  _God!_  Can you imagine?"

"I'd sooner put on a dress and date Neville."

They shared a laugh at the image before another moment silence fell, albeit more comfortable than the first time.

"So, what are we going to do about . . . ?" She shook her head, her expression uncertain. "About whatever this is?"

Ron shook his head, as well, chewing his bottom lip as he thought. "No idea."

Pansy let out a sigh. After a moment, she couldn't help noticing how his arm was still hanging at his side.

He nearly jumped at the contact when she slipped her hand into his. He looked up to see she was rather determinedly staring off in the opposite direction.

A half-smile curving his lips, he let out a sigh of his own. "This is okay," he said, nodding.

Though he couldn't see her face from the angle she'd turned her head, he got the distinct impression she was grinning.


	38. And Sometimes the Plan Works

**Chapter Thirty-Eight**

And Sometimes, the Plan Works

The following Monday they all found themselves summoned to Professor McGonagall's office after classes had finished. To all passersby and onlookers, it appeared as though all hell was about to break loose the moment the Gryffindor students realized they were heading in the same direction as Pansy Parkinson.

"What the bloody hell did you do this time?" Hermione asked Pansy in a biting tone as the four made their way along the corridor beside the lone Slytherin witch.

Pansy responded with a disgusted roll of her eyes as she  _accidentally_  jostled Granger while pushing past her to take the lead. "Whatever's going on is  _your_  fault, I'm sure," she hissed, shaking her hand, and all but turning around to spit at the star pupil.

Hermione took a step in Pansy's direction, only to have Harry slip a hand around her elbow and pull her back. As an added effort, Ginny placed herself between the other two girls as they all continued toward the Headmistress' office.

Ron trailed a few paces behind the group, staring daggers at the dark-haired witch the entire way.

Once they were all up the spiraling lift, and safely away from prying eyes and ears, they breathed a collective sigh. The shift wasn't lost on Draco, though—who was waiting for them, seated in one of the cushy arm chairs—as they all let the tension drain from them.

"Having a harder time pretending you all still hate each other than you thought you would, aren't you?"

The mirthful tone lacing his voice was not missed by any of them. They each responded accordingly . . . with sour looks and scowls, and Harry just barely keeping Ginny from slapping the former-ferret across the back of his skull.

"Easy for you to say," Ron commented as he fell into the chair opposite Draco. "All you have to pretend is that you're invisible under a  _cloak_ of invisibility."

Even Hermione couldn't help a giggle at the way Draco's eyes narrowed.

"If you are quite finished." Professor McGonagall's brows were drawn up as she stared at the group.

The snickering teenagers sobered instantly and all gave her their undivided attention.

After a moment of darting her gaze to each of them in turn, she spoke. "I believe we have all had quite enough waiting, quite enough of this silly charade."

Hermione responded, and Harry thought for certain it was likely because she was the only one brave enough to do so when the professor wore such a severe expression. "We already tried push them, they've revealed nothing we didn't already know, Professor." She shrugged, a frown gracing her lips as she wedged herself into the same chair as Draco. "What if they're more frightened of Harken than they are of being exposed?"

"Mr. Malfoy," the elder witch said around a weighted sigh. "I would like you to employ your ghost-act one more time, if you would. Perhaps another nudge is required."

Hermione rolled her eyes, but held in a groan at the look of wicked glee that flitted across her boyfriend's features at the thought of school-sanctioned torment. "And if they still don't go to him?"

"Then  _I_  will confront him, myself. Either way, this  _ends_. Tonight. I have allowed them to believe they got away with this for  _too_  long, already."

"What are the rest of us to do, then?" Harry asked.

"You will be waiting for us in his department quarters, where I will approach him, unannounced, for a private discussion later this evening." She arched a brow. "You will all be clever enough to hide yourselves, of course. I fear Mr. Malfoy and I may need your assistance, should our plans sour."

There was a bit of fidgeting and shifting throughout the group, before Pansy, of  _all_  people in the room, spoke up. "What  _are_ you going to say when you confront him?"

The professor shrugged and dropped her gaze to some scrolls open on her desk. "I will tell him his little cohorts confessed to me, which will undoubtedly prompt him to respond."

"Professor, you're going to lie?" There was no masking the shock—and hint of admiration—in the Slytherin girl's voice.

"I do not  _lie_ , Miss Parkinson." Though Minerva McGonagall didn't look up from her work, the arching of a single brow was visible from where the student stood. "I have, however, stretched the truth when deemed necessary by the occasion."

After a moment of digesting that, Pansy leaned closer to the Gryffindor students and stage-whispered behind her hand, "No wonder you all like her so much."

* * *

Creeping along the dungeon corridor, Draco sidestepped a sleepy third year making their way from the washrooms to their dorm room. Aside from his own muffled movements beneath the Cloak, and that lone student, the dungeons were eerily quiet.

He paused, waiting for the opening and closing of the dorm room door before he continued further down the wing, to where the Durmstrang wizards were housed. Just as he was about to grasp the knob to enter Axel's room, he snatched his hand back, thinking better of it.

Turning, he scanned the doors. Which was the room of the one who'd peed his pants in fright that last time?

Remembering which door that was, Draco felt a cruel smirk curve his lips as he crossed the corridor toward it.

* * *

Aksel was wrenched from sleep by a pair of hands gripping the front of his nightshirt. "Wake up, already," the person said in an impatient tumble of words.

"Bhelin?" he asked, sitting up and swatting the other wizard's hands away. "What  _is_  it?"

"It's Enrick, he—he couldn't take it, anymore."

Kicking off his covers and pushing out of bed to stand, Aksel glanced about, seeing the others—minus Enrick—all lingering by the door. "What's happened? What's he—?"

"He said he saw the ghost again; he's gone to tell Harken about it. We have to get to him."

Aksel frowned in anger as he looked at each of them, again. They all appeared worn, bleary-eyed . . . exhausted and overwrought. Harken—as Aksel had noted from observing the professor during classes, and meals, and even when they passed each other in the corridors between classes—was calm and carefree. He seemed to have separated himself from this entire thing, while  _they_  were . . . .

He snatched his wand from his bedside table and stormed toward the door.  _They_  were paying the price for his plan.

The others all followed at Aksel's heels as Bhelin asked, noting his friend's death grip his wand, "Aksel? Wait! What're you going to do?"

"I'm  _going_  to back up Enrick." Even as he answered, he could feel the collective shock ripple through the others. They'd all thought he was going to stop their friend, not support his insane action.

But their pace didn't falter; none of them turned away, or ran back to their rooms. They'd cared about protecting the elder wizard when they'd agreed to this mess, but now, with everything gone wrong?

"I don't trust that man not to kill Enrick just to protect himself," he muttered under his breath as they hurried along.  _Or any of the rest of us._

He didn't know who he was more angry with, Harken for getting them into this mess, or himself for not seeing Harken clearly, sooner.


	39. 'Bout Bloody Time

**Chapter Thirty-Nine**

'Bout Bloody Time

Draco managed to catch Professor McGonagall, slipping a hand around her elbow. He tugged the elder witch backward, 'round a bend in the corridor,  _just_  as the Durmstrang students appeared, the group of them making a stern-faced beeline for Harken's department quarters.

She barely refrained from fighting him off when she realized what had transpired. It didn't help that he still wore the Invisibility Cloak, so it appeared for the briefest moment that she'd been dragged backward by an unseen force—an unsettling experience, regardless of circumstances. Easing forward, she peered around the bend, watching them as they drew to a halt before the door.

"Are the others already inside?" Draco whispered, afraid to drop the hood until the moment was  _precisely_  right.

"I believe so," the elder witch said, her voice low to match his. "Tell me  _this_  is a good thing."

" _This_ is precisely what you'd hoped for." Draco's smirk was evident in his tone. He poked out his elbow and guided the Headmistress' hand to rest in the crook of his arm. "Well, Professor? Shall we?"

Minerva McGonagall smiled in spite of herself, allowing the young man to escort her down the corridor as the Durmstrang students threw open the door and hurried in to confront Harken, wands drawn.

She _almost_  found it amusing—if any of those students had been through the Battle of Hogwarts with them, they'd understand that their brazen entrance was more humorous than threatening. It was Harken's response that worried her.

* * *

Aksel and Bhelin headed the group, their wands steady on the dark-haired professor. Harken, barely starting at their unannounced intrusion, kept his gaze locked on Enrick. The younger wizard trembled, his own disarmed wand on the floor at his feet.

"I  _thought_  you could keep your little friends under control, Aksel." Drawing a step closer to Enrick, the professor's face twisted into a menacing scowl. "I gave you all explicit instructions— _explicit_ —to never approach me on school grounds. To do  _nothing_  that would raise suspicions. Yet, here you all stand."

"Should make you worry what's gone wrong, don't you think?" Bhelin was pleased his voice sounded far less shaky than he felt in confronting the man.

"What's gone wrong is that children  _never_  listen! This little fool ran in here, calling me a murderer and gibbering about ghosts and—of all things—turning myself in!"

"My friends are  _not_  the problem;  _Enrick_  is not the problem," Aksel said, acid edging his voice. " _You_  are. And you  _are_  a murderer."

Harken's expression warped further at the young man's words. Finally tearing his gaze from Enrick, he looked up, though he did not seem surprised to notice the wands trained on him.

"You  _will_ explain yourself."

Aksel held Harken's gaze without flinching. "The ferret! It was  _killed_."

Harken's dark eyes flashed wide in shock for the briefest moment before he regained his composure. "What should  _I_  care if Malfoy's dead? I hardly see how that's  _my_  problem.  _You_  lot were the ones responsible for keeping an eye on him."

"Only as part of  _your_  plan, you daft little tw—"

"Professor McGonagall!"

The students all turned, white as sheets at the mention of the headmistress' name. There she stood in her housecoat, her long salt-and-pepper hair down from its usual severe bun in a loose braid that hung over one shoulder and her spectacles perched on the bridge of her nose. She looked more like someone's doting grandmother . . . unless one counted the wand she held at the ready, pointed directly at Emil Harken.

The Durmstrang students each lowered their wands. Following the War, Minerva McGonagall's reputation had proceeded her in all corners of the Wizarding world. Not one of them fancied the idea of such a formidable witch thinking they were threatening her.

"Oh, no, no," she said, offering a grin that managed to be absolutely terrifying. "Do not stop your tale-spinning on my account. I was very much in need of a riveting bedtime story. Do,  _please_ , go on."

Harken lifted his chin defiantly, even as he lowered his wand. If he didn't play this precisely right, he would be outnumbered, and now McGonagall stared eloquent, iron-lady daggers at him. He was not going to win this, but perhaps he could still _spin_  the situation. "I don't know what you  _believe_  you heard, my dear Minerva, but these children are laboring under the delusion that—"

"Under the delusion that you transfigured Draco Malfoy, against his will, into a ferret, and through careless disregard of your own plan's outcome, allowed him killed?" Her grip on her wand tightened visibly. "Draco Malfoy . . . _my_  student. Yes, I  _do_  believe I heard something like that."

The Durmstrang students, ashen-faced the lot of them, each backpedaled from the space between the professors.

"Minerva, you've no  _proof_  of any of that." Frowning, he shook his head. "It's  _our_  word against yours that any such thing was said."

"Oh, I hardly think so. Am I correct in believing I am not alone here?"

On cue, Professor McGonagall's motley little bunch appeared in the room. Hermione and Pansy stepped out from behind the long, heavy curtains the shaded the windows, Ginny, Harry and Ron popped up in corners shrouded by the simple, but effective shadows cast by the single lantern gleaming in the room's center. Each with their wands drawn.

And pointed at Harken.

"You're not alone, Professor," Hermione said, thinking even in the moment that she would not be able to put into words the feeling of satisfaction coursing through her at the mingled looks of shock and fury that flickered across Harken's face, were she to recount this story later.

"And, hmm . . . Malfoy, ferret, murder . . . ? Yes, seems we heard  _everything_." Pansy's voice was syrupy sweet. She spared a wink at a surprised Aksel. "Sorry, sweetheart."

"Now that the playing field has been sufficiently leveled," Professor McGonagall said, all trace of humor gone from her expression, now. "You _will_  tell me what happened."

"Why should we?" Bhelin asked, suddenly fearful that she would see Harken's side—that she would think it more their fault than his for what had happened.

"Because either way you will face charges from the Ministry. So tell me of your own volition, or I send Miss Granger to fetch the Veritaserum from the potion stores. Miss Granger, if you would?"

"Certainly, Professor." Hermione turned only minimally, keeping her wand aimed as she backed away toward the door.

"All right,  _okay_!"

Hermione was surprised she nearly made it out of the room before one of them piped up—she  _wasn't_  surprised that it was Aksel, who'd been watching Pansy with misery etched plainly on his face, all the while. Now, he turned his gaze to Hermione and Professor McGonagall before he continued.

"We'll tell you everything."

"Aksel—"

"Shut it, Harken," the young man hissed in a seething whisper.

This was  _finally_  going to be over. Hermione tried to repress a grin as she felt Draco's arm curl around her waist from beneath the Invisibility Cloak, and his unseen lips plant a kiss on her temple.


	40. Chatty McChatterson

**Chapter 40**

Chatty McChatterson

Aksel opened his mouth to speak—his arms folded across his chest and his gaze flickering between Pansy and the floor—but Professor McGonagall silenced him, her finger in the air as she kept her wand trained on Harken with her other hand.

Stepping past the students, she gestured toward the wizard. "Emil . . . your wand."

His dark eyes flashed wide for a moment. "Minerva, you  _can't_  be serious."

"Given that of which you are accused?" Her features pinched in an expression so severe her students winced and stepped back—an action that was not lost on the Aksel and his lot, who all followed suit. "I am  _very_  serious," she said, snapping the fingers of her waiting hand at him. "And I think you will find any attempt to test me to be a  _very_  bad idea."

Hermione, still standing by the door, felt Draco tense beside her at the look that flashed across Harken's face. She wondered if that might be precisely the expression the man had made during the altercation at Diagon Alley which had started this entire mess.

She slid her hand over his, giving his fingers a gentle squeeze as they watched Harken,  _rather_  grudgingly, surrender his wand to the elder witch.

McGonagall backpedaled a single step, but did not lower her defenses. Taking their cue from her, neither did her students. Hermione thought she heard one of the Durmstrang transfers force a gulp down his throat. Bloody well served them right.

"Now, Mr. Landvik, if you would not mind, as you seem the chattiest of your . . . cohorts."

Aksel let out a sigh, his broad shoulders drooping a bit. "He approached us the day we were setting off for Scotland. Just before we were to catch the train to London to meet your Hogwarts Express."

"Granger, look," Draco whispered in his Gryffindor witch's ear.

Distracted by the pending explanation, Hermione turned her gaze just a fraction. Ron had moved to stand beside Pansy as Aksel spoke. Despite the serious matter, she couldn't help biting her lip to hold in a giggle. It was painfully obvious the murderous look that flashed across the ginger-haired young man's features whenever Aksel's eyes darted to Pansy.

"He told us," Askel said, shaking his head, "he wanted our help . . . . He wanted to sting the Malfoys for costing the Dark L—for costing V— _Voldemort_ the War."

"So it  _was_  revenge on his parents, then?" Hermione asked, holding tight to Draco's hand.

Biting hard into his bottom lip, Aksel nodded. "It was  _supposed_  to be prank, that was all. Make them believe something happened to him, make them suffer for a bit, that was _all_."

"All?" Hermione echoed, her voice raising. The only thing that kept her from jinxing him was her desire to hear the rest of what he had to say. And the only thing stopping her from storming across the room was Draco's fingers 'round her wrist. "What'd you mean,  _all_? He was a ferret for weeks, something that was only possible if the transfiguration spell was altered! Explain  _that_."

Aksel met her gaze, visibly angered at her insinuation that he was still hiding something. "He told us it would wear off in a few days. Malfoy was supposed to change back after  _just_  long enough had passed to make his parents panic. We didn't know it was going to last as long as it did." He dropped his attention to his own, bare feet—in his rush to protect Enrick, he'd never even thought to put on shoes. "And we certainly didn't know  _your_  cat would kill him."

"Why  _you_ —"

"Miss Granger, I appreciate your anger," Professor McGonagall interceded, her tone gentle, "but we  _need_  the situation clarified before we can decide where your wrath ought to be directed."

"He had it  _all_ planned out, before he even came to us," Enrick piped up, his arms folded around himself and his gaze on Harken's wand, clutched in the Headmistress' offhand. It was obvious to everyone present that the  _only_  reason Harken wasn't arguing to defend himself was because he was wandless . . . though, having a seething Minerva McGonagall in his face probably helped on that count. "We realized it later, on the train ride. He'd already had the documentation drawn up to slip Malfoy into the shop. We felt stupid for not realizing, but we still trusted that in a few days, the shopkeeper would make the startling discovery of a wizard stuck in one of the cages."

"We even thought it funny, at first." Bhelin shook his head, frowning as he looked at all of them, in turn. " _His_  family became blood-traitors, and _he_  coincidentally ended up the pet of a M—" He eyed the point of Hermione's wand suddenly and then met her gaze. She arched a brow at him, daring him to say it—there was no way for him to know she'd already been through Hell to come to terms with the distasteful title.

"Muggle-born," he finished. "It just seemed so fitting for what Harken wanted. For what we were trying to do. We really didn't know he would be trapped like that. It's like Aksel said—we  _never_  meant to get him killed."

Now that the actual confession was out in the open, Hermione—prompted by a delicate nudge from Draco—asked, "Was there anyone else in on it?"

Aksel shook his head, glancing one last time in Pansy's direction. The dark-haired witch slipped her free hand into Ron's. With a mirthless smirk, the Durmstrang student breathed a self-derisive laugh. "No one. Harken said the more people who knew, the more likely someone might slip up and say something. We didn't think we'd get in trouble. We had  _no_  idea it would go this far. A harmless prank, was all."

McGonagall took the cue. "Emil? Is that so?"

Harken, who'd stewed quietly all the while, nodded, speaking from between clenched teeth and his gaze never once leaving the wand trained on him. "Yes. The only ones who knew anything about this stand before you."

"Good!" Draco's disembodied voice rang out from the doorway, giving Harken and every last one of the Durmstrang students a start.

Hermione felt bad for Enrick in that moment, as he looked 'bout ready to jump out of his skin.

Draco stepped into the corridor just long enough to drop Potter's Cloak. Let the bastards all rot wondering how they'd pulled this off.

When he reappeared in the entrance, Harken's face drained of color. His wand at the ready, and aimed at the center of the elder wizard's chest, Draco stormed across the room.

As he moved, the expressions on the Durmstrang students' faces all reflected the dawning of a realization. They understood they'd been played. The only one who seemed to find a hint of humor in the mess was Aksel, shaking his head at himself, again, as a half-smile curved his lips.

"Tell me I can hex him, Professor, _please_ ," Draco said, his tone lethal.

"As much as I would like to indulge you on this matter, Mr. Malfoy, I have to say no. We need to turn them over to the proper authorities."

"Well, then I'm at least going to give him a piece of my mind." The words that fell from Draco's lips next* left Hermione wide-eyed and covering her mouth, Ron and Harry laughing, Pansy and Ginny nodding in encouragement, and Professor McGonagall's brows high on her forehead, clearly speechless for a few moments.

When he was finished, he glanced apologetically at the Headmistress. "I  _was_  taught not to speak that way in front of my elders, but he deserved it!"

Minerva McGonagall's lips folded inward as she repressed a grin. Once she had her expression schooled, she nodded. "I understand, given the circumstances. Now, if you wouldn't mind accompanying Miss Granger to my office to contact the Ministry. And, of course, your parents."

She nodded toward Pansy, Ron, Ginny, and Harry. "We will keep our friends, here, company in the meanwhile."

Nodding, Draco returned to Hermione's side by the door and took her hand in his as he started into the corridor.

* * *

*** Leaving Draco's words to your imagination in the interest of maintain this fic's T rating ;D**


	41. That Malfoy Temper

**Chapter Forty-One**

That Malfoy Temper

Narcissa Malfoy buried her face in her hands. Hermione still wasn't certain if it was fortuitous, or not, that the Malfoys had arrived  _before_  the officials from the Ministry. She'd thought it a good thing, at first, as Draco's parents could receive their explanation without having to hear it as Professor McGonagall explained what had been done to Draco—and  _why_ —to a third party.

But now, his mother was taking deep, gulping breaths to calm herself, and his father's face was . . . . Well, to call it a  _mask of rage_  would be putting it lightly, Hermione was sure.

"I was correct." Narcissa whispered, her unhappy voice slipping out from between clenched teeth. "This  _was_  our fault."

Draco opened his mouth to deny her words, but Hermione beat him to it. "No, Mrs. Malfoy. This was not  _your_  fault. This was the fault of the person who  _chose_ to do this to your son, and no one else!"

Against her own better judgement, Hermione reached out, placing her hand over one of Narcissa's. "The person your feelings of blame  _should_  be directed toward is Emil Harken."

Lucius gave a start, his grey eyes narrowing. "Well, this is something I certainly never believed I'd say, but I agree with you, Miss Granger." Turning in his seat, he looked to Professor McGonagall. "Minerva, might I have a . . . private word with Mr. Harken before the representatives from the Ministry arrive?"

Minerva McGonagall's brows crept up her forehead as she met his gaze. "Lucius, while normally I would be opposed to acquiescing to such a request from you, in  _this_  case . . . ." She glanced to the other people in the room, in turn, before continuing. "I find myself inclined to allow it. If you relinquish your wand, of course."

His features pinched in scowl. "I . . . merely wish to  _speak_  with him. I want to ensure my son is in no further danger, and . . . I find it suspect that the spell lasted so much longer than he  _supposedly_ planned, nothing more."

The headmistress didn't budge. "A . . .  _chat_ , I can allow. An Unforgivable Curse accidentally slipping while you are having that chat is not something I wish to have to explain." She held out her hand. "Your wand, Lucius."

With a sigh, Lucius stood from his seat and placed his wand in her waiting fingers.

Nodding, she gestured toward Mr. Filch, waiting by her office entrance. "Argus, please take Mr. Malfoy to see our . . . guest. Perhaps even give them a moment alone?"

Hermione could swear there were mingling hints of satisfaction and cruelty in the grin that curved Mr. Filch's thin lips as he nodded back. "Yes, Ma'am."

After Lucius was led from the room, the four remaining in the office fell quiet.

Several minutes of that strained silence passed before Hermione leaned over to whisper in Draco's ear. "Wand or no wand, I'm a little concerned."

Draco's brows shot up. "For my father?"

She mirrored his expression. "For Harken. How likely is it your father might still kill him without use of a wand?"

"My father kill someone with his bare hands?" He tipped his head side-to-side as he thought. "In this sort of situation? I'd give it a fifty-fifty."

There was the sound of a throat clearing, followed by the muttered figure, "Seventy-thirty . . . the higher in favor  _of._ "

Hermione and Draco turned as one to look at Narcissa. The elegant witch was calmly examining her nails, as though she'd said nothing, at all.

They exchanged a glance, but Draco only shrugged. Granger didn't know it, but he had a pretty good idea Harken's odds of survival would be even slimmer had his mother gone to  _chat_ with him.

When Mr. Malfoy returned, he looked none the worse for wear, but Hermione couldn't not-notice the way he was alternating between rubbing the knuckles of his leather-gloved hands, and shaking out his fingers.

Professor McGonagall noticed, as well, eyeing Lucius as he resumed his seat. "I trust Mr. Harken is still breathing, at least?"

"Oh, Minerva, you worry far too much. He is perfectly . . . ." Lucius flicked a brow upward for the faintest second as he shook his head. "Well, he  _is_  breathing and standing . . . well, no. He is still upright. There  _may_  be some bruising and swelling in his face by the time he arrives at the Ministry."

Lucius shrugged when she said nothing. "He fell."

He met the Headmistress' gaze. "Regardless of how he sustained his injuries, kidnapping must be added to his list of charges."

That word had not been uttered as of yet, and now, as it bounced around the room, Hermione felt her heart drop into her stomach.

"Then, that means . . . ." Narcissa's brow furrowed, but she couldn't bring herself to continue.

Lucius nodded, again shaking out his hand and flexing his fingers. "He never expected the spell to be undone. That man intended for some stranger to  _purchase_  my transfigured son from that shop."

Hermione reached out, blindly taking one of Draco's hands between both of her own, uncaring of the fact that his parents could clearly see the gesture of affection and concern.

"He never intended for us to see our son, again. Draco was to live the rest of his life in that . . . that  _form_." Lucius turned, meeting his wife's horrified gaze. "It is only by the grace of God that I did  _not_  kill him."

Narcissa' jaw set. "Then I cannot say  _I_  would have been so gracious."

Draco bit his lip, his brows drawing up as Hermione turned a surprised look on him. Well, there went any subterfuge regarding which Malfoy was  _truly_ the dangerous one.

But then, Hermione also felt a strange weight settle on her shoulders in that moment. For all her personal differences with Narcissa and Lucius, they did care for their son . . . . And they were likely both realizing how close they'd come to losing him, for good.

Squeezing Draco's hand, she leaned over and dropped a kiss on his cheek. A flicker of questioning crossed his features as she stood from her seat.

"Granger, where are you—?"

"I think your parents need some time with you."

Looking from her to his mother and father—she didn't follow his gaze, leaving them the privacy of whatever emotions might be showing in their eyes—Draco nodded.

Nodding back, Hermione pivoted on her heel and started toward the door. She couldn't very well suggest Professor McGonagall leave, as it was  _her_  office. But then, the Headmistress was suddenly so entrenched in her paper work, it  _was_  like she wasn't actually there.

As she reached the entryway, and Mr. Filch actually sidestepped without complaint, or even a snide look, Hermione heard Mrs. Malfoy call out to her. She turned her head, looking over her shoulder to find the gazes of  _both_  Narcissa and Lucius on her.

"Yes, Mrs. Malfoy?" she asked, after forcing a gulp down her throat.

The pale-haired witch offered her a small smile. "Thank you."

Unable to do nothing more than smile back, Hermione nodded. "You're welcome."

* * *

Finally, the officials from the Ministry arrived to cart away Emil Harken and his little helpers, just as Hermione and the others—save Draco who was still with his parents—were leaving the Great Hall from an early-morning breakfast the house elf kitchen staff had been kind enough to provide them after the long night they'd had.

As Harken was ushered up the steps from the dungeons, Draco and his parents appeared at the upper level railing nearest McGonagall's office. Hermione was glad for how close they appeared . . . though, also mildly terrified at how similar Draco and his father looked in that moment, as expressions of anger twisted their features.

"Whoa," Ginny said in a whisper, her ginger brows shooting up as she noticed the swelling and discoloration in Harken's face. "What happened to him?"

Hermione could feel everyone turn their gazes on her as they waited for an answer. Shrugging, she didn't bother to look at any of them.

"He fell," she said over her shoulder, before starting up the staircase to join Draco.

She didn't want to wait around to see just how  _very_  much they didn't believe her.


	42. Epilogue: Draco's Promise

**Epilogue**

Draco's Promise

Hermione pushed open the door of the Room of Requirement, her brow furrowing. She had expected the Room would cease to exist in this capacity, once the ferret-mess was over. Draco sat on the sofa, looking over at her with a small grin playing on his lips.

"So your parents are gone?"

He shook his head. "Tea with Professor McGonagall, first, then they'll be on their way back to Wiltshire."

Nodding, she closed the door. "So, then what are you doing here?" She crossed the room and settled on the cushion beside him. "Hiding out from them?"

"No," he said, that smile still curving his lips as he shook his head.

Chestnut eyes narrowing, she pouted. "Am I missing something?"

"Missing something? No." Slipping a hand around the back of her neck, he pulled her close, brushing his lips over hers as he continued, "Forgetting something?  _Yes_."

After she gave into the kiss, playfully nipping as Draco's darting tongue, she remembered. There had been  _one_  last thing Draco had wanted to use the small flat's bedroom for when this was all over.

She broke the kiss, meeting his gaze with wide eyes as a half-grin tugged one corner of her mouth upward. "Oh."

Draco bit his lip on a wicked grin as he nodded. He stood, holding a hand out to her.

She slipped her fingers into his and let him pull her up from the sofa. Hermione could feel the warmth of a blush flooding her cheeks as he led her to the bedroom door.

* * *

"Doesn't look like they're here, either," Ron said with a tired shake of his head as he followed Harry, Pansy and Ginny into the Room of Requirement.

Harry shrugged and cracked a grin. "Thank you, Captain Obvious."

Pansy snorted a giggle. Though, she was very quick to dart her gaze toward the oh-so-fascinating blank wall above the sofa as Ron shot his sort-of-girlfriend a dirty look.

"So then, why's the Room still here, like this?"

Ginny shrugged at her brother's question as she gripped the knob of the bedroom door and twisted. "Well, they might not be here right now, but maybe they're not actually finished with . . . ." Her voice trailed off as she pulled the door open and peered inside.

Closing the door just as quickly, she spun, pressing her back to it.

"Um . . . . You know what? They're, um, occupied." At Ginny's words, the other three exchanged a look. After the passing of a few heartbeats, their jaws dropped and their brows shot up.

"Maybe we should give them a . . . few minutes."

Harry suddenly looked uncomfortable about being in the adjoining room. Ron appeared quite simply dumbstruck.

Pansy, on the other hand, grinned. "Are they . . . ?" she finished the question with a suggestive waggle of her perfectly arched brows.

Ginny opened her mouth to respond, but was cut off by a rather audible scandalized gasp from the other side of the door.

Followed by a giggle, and . . . . " _Draco_!"

Ginny shot forward from the door as though the wood burned her back. "Or we'll just come back later."

The boys nodded in agreement, trailing after Ginny as she headed for the Room's entrance.

As he opened the door that lead out into the corridor, Harry noted that they were one Slytherin witch shy. He glanced back into the room.

Shoulders slumping, he tugged Ron's elbow and then nodded back toward the bedroom door.

Ron followed his friend's direction. There was Pansy, a wicked grin lighting her expression as she pressed her ear to the oak panels.

"Parkinson," he said in a hissing whisper.

With a roll of her dark eyes, she waved dismissively at him.

Sighing, he circled back for her, slipping a hand around her wrist and tugging her away.

"Oh, alright,  _fine_ ," she said with a disgruntled groan as she shook her head at him.

He pretended he didn't hear her calling them all prudes under her breath as she stomped after them.

If any of them had stayed just a few minutes longer, they might've heard the couple on the other side of the door speak their first  _I love you_ s.

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading! It's meant the world to me :)


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